


Where Her Heart Should Be

by purplehedgehogskies



Series: Where Her Heart Should Be [1]
Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-19 01:31:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 62,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1450303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplehedgehogskies/pseuds/purplehedgehogskies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>College student Katniss Everdeen has no idea where she's headed in life. On campus, everything is strange and new, and though home is only a few miles away she feels detached from everything she's ever known. Except for Peeta, the charming boy from the bakery back in her hometown. </p>
<p>Everlark AU, with a bit of Finnick and Annie too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The room is symmetrical, with an undressed bed on either side and matching cedar desks pushed up against opposite walls. There’s a shallow closet in one corner and two narrow dressers for storage, and much to my dismay, the bathrooms are down the hall. I choose to leave the closet for my roommate because she probably has infinitely more clothes than I do, and I begin to unpack the contents of my bags.

     I’ve packed nothing but the bare minimum. I’m going to be here the entire year, but I live close enough that I can drive to my mother’s house if I need something. I’ll do some laundry there, swing by the bakery for the ever-so-addicting cheese buns they make, and visit with Prim. I’m curious to see how her school year will be—she’s going into high school already, though it seems like just yesterday she was eight years old and still small enough for piggy-back rides around the yard. The only really personal touches on my side of the dorm will be pictures of her through the years, some of them with me and some without.

     I make the bed and set up my laptop on the desk before taking out the photos, and when I do, I can’t help but gaze lovingly at each one. My sister is undoubtedly my favorite person in the world. A few of them are framed, and I set them up on the desk and dresser, and a few of them I pin to the wall using a box of thumbtacks I packed. The one I hold most dear goes on the tiny nightstand—Prim in first grade, with missing teeth and wispy blond hair, her arms thrown around a goat called Lady. She cried when we left the petting zoo that day, she loved that goat so much.

     When I’m officially moved in, I step back and stare at it all. It’s surreal. College was always this mysterious event in the distant future to me, and now that I’m here, it’s a weird feeling. I haven’t been a kid in ages, I mean, not properly anyway. Time and tragedy forced me to grow up quickly, and now that my childhood is officially over, I kind of resent the fact that it went so quickly.

     Oh well. I turn away from the scene and peer out the window instead. From here, all I see is the parking lot. I was hoping for a view of the woods that border some of the campus and are actually very close to my building, but instead I have a stretch of pavement with fading yellow stripes. My rusted green Volkswagen sits in one corner of it, looking about as lost as I feel.

     There’s an activities fair or something in the courtyard, and I go, because there’s nothing else to do. I leave dormitory twelve and stride across the lawn, towards the sprawling expanse of grass and trees and winding paths that lies in the center of all the residential buildings, save for the Capitol Suites that are a bit further away from it all. There are booths lining the paths and people crowding around them, signing up for clubs and organizations and things I’ll probably never do. People call to each other and reunite after a long summer, and frat boys rip off their shirts and chant a slogan. Somebody’s breakdancing across a flattened cardboard box and others are cheering him on. It’s all a burst of color and noise, and I feel bland in the midst of it.

     I wander among the booths seeing nothing I’m interested in, and right around the time I begin to contemplate a retreat, I hear my name called. I turn to see who is shouting over the dull roar of voices, my eyes roaming over the crowd as I seek out a familiar face.

     And then he emerges, jogging up to me and grinning. “Katniss Everdeen,” he says, brushing hair out of his eyes. They’re stunningly blue eyes, and they remind me of the way the sunlight bounces off the river back home.

     “Um…” I know that I know him from somewhere, but I can’t recall his name, or even where’ I’ve seen him before.

     “Peeta,” he supplies, gesturing to himself. “From the bakery. And school, I guess, though I’m a year ahead of you, right? Yeah.”

     I nod slowly. Yes, come to think of it, I do know who he is. I remember the girls in my grade always giggled and cooed over him, and that he was voted a lot of things when he graduated, _most charming_ included. Peeta Mellark, the football star who showed up at school with paint on his face or flour in his hair. In fact, he’s got paint on his face even now, a splatter of green on his jaw and a smudge on his forehead.

     “Oh,” I say. “I um, I didn’t know you went here.”

     “Didn’t know you’d be here either,” he says in return, breaking into another toothy grin. “I guess we’re both pleasantly surprised, then, aren’t we?”

      I am unresponsive, but Peeta keeps smiling as if he’s the happiest person for miles.

      “So, what’re you here for? I mean, like what you’re studying.”

     “I don’t know yet,” I answer. He nods understandingly and looks to the side as someone says hello to him. He waves at them and turns back to me.

     “That’s okay, like, I know a lot of people who are totally undecided,” he says. I figure he knows a lot of people period. Peeta is the type of person who befriends practically everybody. “I’m here for business, because I wanna take over the bakery. My brothers aren’t really interested, but I like it, so. I’m in an art club thing too,” he gestures to a paint splattered banner above a booth, where a girl stands and scowls at him. “I’m actually supposed to be over there.”

     “Don’t let me keep you,” I say.

     He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. Johanna will be fine—it’s just standing there and smiling, and she only has a problem with the smiling.”

     I nod. The girl at the booth continues to glare through the fringe of her pink hair, and he continues to ignore the cold look plastered on her face. Johanna doesn’t acknowledge my existence or the person that stops at her table—she just fixes Peeta with her cold and unwavering gaze.

     “So,” says Peeta. I start to walk on, just to see if he’ll follow, and he does. Of course he does. “Is there anything you’re interested in? I think there’s an archery club, like, somewhere.” He hoists himself up onto a bench and walks along it as he scans the area. I look up at him, squinting in the sunlight that catches the gold in his hair and cast shadows over the bench’s chipping paint. “Oh there it is,” he says, pointing. He jumps down in front of me and I step back on instinct, surprised when he latches onto my sleeve and starts leading me. “Come on, let’s go look.”

     I’m unsure if this attention is to be welcomed or not. At least he’s someone familiar, kind of. We were never really friends in high school, and the last conversation I remember having with him had something to do with bread or the bakery. I have no more involvement with Peeta Mellark than any other person—a game of tag on the playground in elementary; seeing him at the bakery every once in a while. But he acts like we’ve been friends for ages.

     I mostly feel awkward as he guides me towards the archery booth. Peeta greets people joyously as he walks, but he never lets go of my sleeve or pauses to stay and chat.

     Finally we stop at the booth and he turns to me. I pretend to look interested as I flip through brochures and examine the bow they’ve laid out. It’s kind of odd that he knows about my archery skills, and I’m even more shocked when he starts to talk to the people behind the table about how good at it I am.

     I admit that I’m a pretty good shot, but the highest I’ve ever scored in competition only got me second place. I always preferred hunting to competing, because I’d rather have food on the table than boatloads of praise.

     Finally Peeta turns to me and says, “I probably ought to get back.”

     I nod and he smiles before he goes. As soon as his retreating form vanishes into the crowd, I peel away from the archery booth and start down the path back to dormitory twelve. I’ve had enough of this organized chaos and feeling out of place. It’s busier than the market back in my beloved mining town, and the only real connection it has to my home is the presence of Peeta Mellark.

     My room is no longer just mine when I get back.

     A girl is lying on the other bed, her limbs long and sprawling, her head at the footboard and her feet at the headboard. Her hair hangs off the end of the bed like a waterfall of chocolate brown and her eyes are closed as she hums along with whatever music she is listening to. Her oversized t-shirt is wrinkled and her jeans are ripped; movie and band posters line her side of the bedroom and she has written what I assume to be song lyrics on her arms. Her interests are clear in the décor, but the same cannot be said for her personality.

     She doesn’t notice as I close the door behind me and perch on my bed, and I wonder if I should do something to get her attention. She sings a few lyrics slightly off key and remains oblivious as I sit here, waiting. Finally I give up on introductions and pull one of my books from the shelf. It’s a battered old thing, with writing in the margins and creases in the spine, but it was my father’s. I don’t have much of him left but memories and books and the songs he’d sing to Prim and me before tucking us in at night. After he died, it was me who sang the lullabies and did the tucking in.

     I am a few chapters in when the girl acknowledges me.

     “You’re Katniss,” she states as she sits up from her sprawled out position. “Hm. Pretty.”

    I look up and blink at her, confused. She smiles knowingly and swings off of her bed to put her iPod in a turquoise charging dock. It makes a little sound as she does so, and she mimics it with a laugh. Even her low chuckle is melodic, which is odd, considering her singing voice.

     “I know someone who knows you,” she explains. “He says you’re cool, so I mean, we should get along swimmingly. Then again, Peeta thinks a lot of people are cool.”

     “You know Peeta?” I ask, still lost. She nods and picks up a picture from her desk. It’s a horizontal frame with seashells carved into the painted wood, and when she hands it to me, I see that it’s fitting. The three people in the photograph are at the beach, all of them smiling. One of them is her in a polka dotted swimsuit with her hair pulled back, and another is Peeta wearing big dark sunglasses and a sleeveless shirt that shows off his muscled arms. The third is a guy standing between them, wearing swim trunks and winking at the camera.

      “That’s my boyfriend,” she says, pointing to the towering beach god. “Finn. He and Peeta became friends last year and they’re roommates now. This is just a month or so ago, when Peeta went on vacation to Mexico with us. When I learned who my roommate was, he was all buzzed about it, said he knew who you were.”

     But…Peeta said he knew nothing about me being here, at UNC Panem. He’d gone as far as to say he was pleasantly surprised. _Why would he lie?_ I frown at the picture and my roommate—I don’t remember her name from the papers—hovers nearby. When I hand it back, she looks disheartened.

     She has one of those faces that as soon as she looks sad, you feel horrible about it.

     “Yeah, Peeta’s from my hometown,” I finally say, managing a smile. “Collins Village, not too far from here.”

     I don’t tell her that we might as well be strangers. I don’t tell her that I saw him today in the courtyard or that he used to give me free loaves of bread if I snuck around the back of the bakery. None of it is important. He isn’t important.

     As she peers at the spines on of the books on my desk, I squint to read the writing on her arm. Most of what I see is in the same handwriting, but there’s one thing that isn’t. Naturally that stands out to me. It’s a large heart drawn on her bicep with a slight imperfection near her elbow where the artist’s hand shook; inside, the letters are big and blocky: FINN & ANNIE 5EVER.

     Annie. Her name is Annie. I file it away in my mind and continue looking at the lyrics she’s scrawled about. Some of it I recognize, surprisingly. _Take a bite of my heart tonight_ is written across the back of her hand and _you’ll always be my thunder_ curls around the inside of her forearm. I’m about to read more when she turns to face me, blushing as she realizes that I was staring.

     “Yeah, um,” she says, rubbing at her sharpied arms. “It’s a habit I have.”

     “No, it’s cool,” I say, because it is. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

     She smiles shyly, and I realize that she’s a lot different than I thought she’d be. By the scruffy band members on her walls and her worn clothing and cartilage piercings, I’d thought she’d be sharp and sarcastic or something. Instead she has sweet green eyes and a lovely little smile, and I feel ashamed for concluding that her taste in music should define her personality.

     “People say I’ll get ink poisoning,” she says, relaxing visibly. She shrugs her shoulders just a little bit and goes back to sit on her bed, where she perches primly on the mattress. She awkwardly folds her arms and tucks her legs beneath her. “Or that it looks tacky or something, you know?”

     I ask, because I’m curious, “And what does Finn think?”

     She beams at the mention of him and unwinds her limbs. I definitely like Annie, at least in the way she fills a room. As soon as she is genuinely comfortable, it seem that everything in her swells. Her arms and legs sprawl, occupying more space than she seems to need, and her presence is pleasant and her personality refreshing. I’d feared she’d be too much like myself, stoic and overly-angry with the world, but she’s nowhere near that.

     She’s a lot more like Peeta than she is like me.

    I wonder if he’s right; if Annie and I will get on as well as he says. I catch myself hoping that Peeta’s prediction rings true. I want to befriend Annie Cresta, and I should. I’ll be stuck with her for the year, so why not? I don’t know if we can be as close as I was with Gale, and I know that no bond can rival the one I have with Prim, but part of new experiences is new people. This is what I signed up for.

 *****

This is not what I signed up for.

     University life is highly glorified. It has been a week and a half, and I’m swimming in responsibilities. I’m always tired, or hungry, and whenever I put a pen to paper, somebody starts blaring Nicki Minaj at ear-splitting volume. If I hear one more line of Stupid Hoe or Starship, I may just throw myself out the window, which is five stories up. Annie has high quality headphones that block out everything, and I’m extremely jealous.

     I didn’t expect it to be easy, but I didn’t expect to be sitting in my dorm at night eating a granola bar and re-reading a syllabus for the third time because I’m constantly interrupted. Maybe I can quit college and live in the woods. I talked about it with Gale once. He said we could do it, but I said _what about Prim?_ Prim wouldn’t last an hour in the woods, and Gale’s family needed him a lot more than he liked to acknowledge.

     Now he’s in a military base somewhere, training or something. I haven’t contacted him since he left, and I don’t plan to. I wouldn’t know what to say.

     Annie drops her marker on her desk, and it hits the wood with a clattering sound. I wince and turn to see her peeling away her headphones, clearly apologetic. I shush her before she can apologize. The ink on her arm is still fresh, glistening slightly under the light. _Nights like these I wish I’d said don’t go_ printed neatly in the expanse between her elbow and her wrist. Of course, it’s random to her—she heard it in a song and scribbled it down, maybe thinking about what it meant, but not really relating it to anything. But it makes me think of Gale again.

     “I’ll be right back,” Annie says, getting up and walking to the door. She’s wearing a bright blue tunic with striped leggings and I’m surprised at how well the look is working. Her bare feet shuffle across the carpet. “Nature calls.”

     I manage a tight-lipped smile and she disappears into the hall.

     Moments later, there’s a knocking on the door.  I assume Annie has forgotten to bring her key along, and I get up to let her inside. But as I open it, it isn’t Annie who faces me.

     Finn Odair smirks down at me, his hair sweeping across his forehead like a swath of red gold. He’s considerably taller than most people I know, though not by a mile or anything. He seemed shorter in his picture and the few times I spotted him across the courtyard. He has bright eyes and well-aligned teeth, and is built like any other member of the swim team. Triangular.

     “Hello, beautiful,” he croons. He breaks eye contact to peer over my head and into the dorm. “We’ve come to collect Annie. There’s a little get together I’ve been invited to, and I promised I’d let her tag along. You could come too, seeing as we could always use another pretty face.”

     He flirts shamelessly, and frankly I’m surprised. Annie chalks him up to be a goofball, but a sweetheart. And yet, he’s made quite a different impression on me.

     “She’s in the bathroom,” I say flatly. Finn’s eyebrows rise.

     “Well, can my pal and I come in and wait?” he inquires. I open my mouth to say no, but he doesn’t waste time waiting for an answer. He uses one hand to push the door open wider and push past me, somehow avoiding touching me at all. He shouts around the doorframe, “Dude, come on, don’t be shy. Katniss might look like she wants to beat me to death, but she’s probably not going to hurt you.”

     The “pal” in question begins to clomp down the hallway. He must’ve been waiting by the stairs. I’m not surprised when Peeta appears in the doorway; I knew he was a friend of Finn’s and Annie’s. I just never pictured him showing up in my room as he does.

     I’ve seen Peeta a few more times since the activities fair. He lives with Finn on the second floor, which is considerably nicer than the fifth. The rooms are larger and have private bathrooms, according to Annie, who’s been down there several times. Because we life in the same building, I’ve run into Peeta on the stairwell and on the paths in the courtyard. Each time he made small talk and grinned blindingly, and I felt increasingly out of place until he finally excused himself.

     Now, his hair is combed back and he wears a crisp white dress shirt. As Finn reclines on Annie’s bed and fiddles with her stuffed dolphin, Peeta rolls up his sleeve and avoids my eyes. When he finally looks up, I’m still staring at him. He looks surprised, his eyes widening, and he parts his lips as if to say something. But he stops. He is much more hesitant to enter than Finn was, giving me a questioning look.

     I nod. He steps foot inside the room, leaving the door ajar as he stands between my bed and Annie’s.

     “Hi,” I say. He’s just a foot away, and for some reason this is alarmingly close. I distance myself and sit back down in my chair as Peeta watches me. Finn tosses the dolphin in the air.

     “Hey,” says Peeta, his response delayed. I turn a little in my chair, tapping my knees with open palms. The rest of my body is stock still, save for my hands as they practically grope my kneecaps into oblivion. Peeta fiddles with his sleeve and stares out the window. Finn makes Annie’s dolphin swim through the air, making high-pitched squealing sounds.

     Then he abruptly throws it at Peeta, who fumbles to catch it only after it has hit his face and fallen to the ground.

     “I can feel the awkward radiating off of you two,” says Finn, sitting up. Peeta bends over to pick up the dolphin and weakly tosses it back. “It kills my buzz.”

     “Well, what can I say,” Peeta smiles. “Awkward is my specialty.”

     Finn gives him a knowing look, and he turns a little red. Just then, the door opens. Annie’s entire being lights up at the sight of her boyfriend, and she runs toward her bed, toward Finn’s open arms. She bounces on the mattress and crawls up next to him, and he wraps his arms around her in a lopsided yet loving embrace. They lock together like matching puzzle pieces and it’s a wonder I ever questioned Finn’s commitment to their relationship.    

     “Party?” asks Annie, pulling back slightly. Her arms and legs drape over him in ways that don’t seem comfortable at all, but neither of them complains or moves. His fingers slide through her hair, twirling the wavy strands around his fingers.

     “Party,” he affirms. Annie grins and launches up off of the bed to rifle through her closet. She reemerges with a little beaded handbag and carries it over to her desk, where she loads it with lip gloss, her sharpie, her phone, and a thin leather wallet with a band logo on it. Finn climbs to his feet and hovers behind her, tracing the fading letters on her upper arm.

     “So,” says Peeta, and it takes me a second to realize he’s speaking to me. Finn and Annie are whispering to each other and giggling, entirely in their own world, oblivious. Peeta and I might as well be alone in the room. “Did you decide about the party? Will you come?”

     “What?”

     “The party. Do you want to come with?” he repeats himself, but he’s looking at the floor. “I mean, you don’t have to, of course. Sometimes I don’t go to these things either, you know, they can get boring. Or crazy.”

     I don’t answer. I am not a party person. Parties, to me, are people milling about and dancing and lusting after one another with reckless abandon. Parties, to me, are mindless gatherings that grow even more mindless as the hours pile up and the alcohol supply lessens.

     Peeta has been to many parties of many sorts. Keggers, bonfires, pool parties and after parties. In high school he was a frequent partygoer, no doubt, always attending with a smile on his face and a pretty girl on his arm and leaving with the same girl thrown over his shoulder like a bag of flour. They said he’d leave as sober as he came, drop the girl at home and apologize to her parents, and sometimes hold her hair back when she vomited in the shrubbery out front. I don’t know how much truth there is to those rumors, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d never touched a beer in his life.

     “I wouldn’t know anyone there,” I say.

     “You know me,” he replies. “And the lovebirds over here. Though they’ll probably forget we exist.”

     “Don’t you have a date?”

     He laughs. “Oh, were you serious? No, no I don’t have a date. Single single single.”

     I don’t know why he says it three times, or thinks that it’s so unheard of for him to have a date. He is, for lack of a better term, insanely attractive. He’s also nice and artistic and smart, and I think any girl would be lucky to have Peeta. Peeta is a catch.

     Not that I’m interested. To me, Peeta has only ever been a star athlete and artist, loved by all. The boy with tousled hair and bruises, handing bread through a hole in his screen door. I respect him. I owe him.

     Annie leaves Finn’s side and stands behind me, her hand clasped on my shoulder. Peeta locks eyes with her and quickly looks away. I lean back, peering up at her smiley face. I smile back.

     “Do you want to come?” she asks brightly, still unaware that I’ve already been asked this question more than once. I shrug and her smile shrinks. “Ohh, please do, Katniss. It’ll be fun! Finn has plenty of room in his car.”

     Car? Where is this party?

     “There will be food,” she says. “And, um, dancing. There will be dancing. Come on.”

     As Annie breaks out different forms of persuasion, tugging my hair and clasping her hands together and trying to pull me out of my chair, I hear laughter fill the room. Finn and Peeta are cracking up, and Annie does a considerable amount of giggling herself. I don’t know whether to be mortified or amused.

     I finally agree to go, hoping it won’t turn out to be a complete disaster. With Annie’s help, I pick an outfit that’s more suited for a party—jeans and a powder-blue blouse that used to be my mother’s. As comfortable as I was in sweats and a t-shirt, she insists that this looks better. She re-braids my hair and digs through my things, finding a necklace with a little gold bird dangling from the chain.

     “This is so pretty,” she coos as she fastens it at the nape of my neck. “Where’d you get it?”

     “A cousin of mine, Madge, gave it to me for graduation,” I say. Madge had slipped it into my hand before the ceremony began, before ducking back into line—she was at the very end, the only surname beginning with a U. There was a card with it, about the size of a business card, with gold lettering to match the chain. I read it later, learning that the bird was a mockingjay, a mythical creature that was believed to be super lucky. I’m not superstitious or fond of jewelry, but I appreciated the thought.

     We pile into Finn’s shiny blue Kia Optima, the two of them in the front and Peeta and I in the back. He seems fascinated with the little bird around my neck, and when he asks, I repeat the story for him. Annie smiles away in the front seat, singing along with the radio and writing on Finn’s free hand, which is placed on her leg.

     I fiddle with my necklace for the duration of the ride because I’m not used to it, and I avoid Peeta’s steady gaze for the same reason. Eventually I feel him look away. I watch the road, still unsure where we’re going. Still unsure _why_ I’m going.

     When Finn turns onto a woodland road, the trees cast spindly shadows over the car. Moonlight glows through them, lighting streams across the backseat and bouncing off of Peeta’s class ring. I glance over at him, and at the same time he glances up at me. I don’t look away this time, for some reason. Maybe it’s his eyes and the way they glitter in the dark, or maybe it’s the tiny little smile that breaks through his neutral façade.

     But I am staring at Peeta Mellark, and he is staring back.

     The route winds up through the woods, the destination glowing from the crest of the hill. Lights and music filter in through the windows, which Finn has cracked open a tiny bit, and I look away from Peeta to see the building that rises above the trees. It isn’t enormous, but it’s tall enough to still be imposing, and much of the exterior walls are made up of windows and reflective steel. It’s sleek and modern, especially in comparison to the blocky brick dormitories that circle the courtyard. I don’t know what to feel when I see it—envy, awe, curiosity, or even anticipation. Maybe disbelief.

     The parking lot is packed, and some people have wedged their cars between the trees that border the area. Finn, however, keeps cruising along until he’s found the entrance to the underground garage. He rolls down his window and leans over to type in a code, and then the door opens to let us roll inside. There’s a lot more parking down here, and before long, we’re all getting out of the car and feeling the draftiness and blinking in the flickering lights.

     Pretty much every college graduate you meet can remember their first college party. Some people remember a frat, or a sorority, or even just a regular old dorm room keg party. But I won’t be one of them, no.

     My first college party is in Capitol Suites.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs: 
> 
> Animal by Neon Trees 
> 
> Thunder, by Boys Like Girls 
> 
> Champagne's for Celebrating (I'll have a Martini), by Mayday Parade


	2. Chapter 2

The amount of social gatherings I have been to since middle school can be counted on one hand. I went to homecoming twice, and I attended my senior prom because I felt obligated to do so. There was one party while I was in eleventh grade, and I can recall that it was wildly dull until halfway through, when everything turned to chaos. Long story short, the cops came. I heard the sirens as I was walking home, getting the hell away from the music and the drinking and the boys that kept looking down my shirt.

     I passed Gale’s house, finding him sitting on the front porch. He’d graduated the year before and was bored out of his mind, working as a mechanic. He was always covered in grease and oil and wore an embroidered nametag above his breast pocket almost all the time.

     “Catnip,” he said with a nod. I nodded in return and shivered, and he vanished into his house to grab a coat. When he returned, he draped a battered suede jacket over my shoulders and walked me home, all the while talking about how much he hated his job. We were still close then, and before he left me on my doorstep, Gale gave my hand a squeeze and wished me good luck as always. I never gave that jacket back.

     In the present, Capitol Suites surrounds me with threads of actually tasteful music, bright lights and the aromas of too many expensive perfumes and colognes mingled together with sweat. The hallways are slightly crowded, people milling about and socializing, but the real action is in the lounges and some of the dorms. Most doors are closed and locked, but a few are wide open to reveal people free-styling in the center of the living room and couples sneaking into bedrooms, their intentions obvious to anybody with a general knowledge of the world. The whole affair is honestly a bit crazy, but there are pockets of calm in the midst of it all. A few rooms are home to people crashed on couches, and some residents have allowed access to their rooms as long as alcohol stays out of it. People are watching movies and studying, even as their peers and neighbors begin to get drunker and talk louder.

     I take note of the tamer areas, knowing I’ll end up there sooner or later.  

     Finn weaves his way through the throngs of partygoers, and we all follow dutifully. Annie clings to his hand, their fingers intertwined. I bob along behind them, navigating the labyrinthine staircases and halls and scoping out the exits. Peeta takes up the rear, and I am so overly conscious of him being behind me that I almost bump into a girl with perfectly formed golden curls and a patronizing smirk. 

     “Hey Peeta,” she says loudly, ignoring me completely. I don’t like the way she drags out his name and bites her lip as he approaches. But I stop walking, staying to watch his reaction.

     “Oh. Hi. Um,” he stammers. “It’s Glimmer, isn’t it? I mean, it’s a unique name, hard to forget. Um.”

     “Yeahh,” she hums and swirls her drink in its glass. Peeta shifts uncomfortably and glances at me. Glimmer’s eyes flick in my direction, clearly disdainful. She leans in to whisper something to him, and as much as I strain my ears, I can’t hear her over the music and voices that fill the air. He frowns and shakes his head, and she smiles maliciously. I hope she gets stung by a multitude of hornets and her entire face swells beyond recognition.

     Peeta is friendly and polite, however, despite her advances. He doesn’t flirt, just makes small talk, and he pretends not to notice when she shoots glare after glare in my direction. I scowl right back. By now, Finn and Annie are long gone, but I can’t help but watch this scene unfold.

     I’m not jealous, I just don’t like her. She’s the type of person that’s entitled and bitchy by nature. She doesn’t care who she treads on to get what she wants, and the more she hurts them with her five-inch heels, the better. Saying I dislike her is actually a gross understatement—I pretty much loathe everything she stands for, every inch of her being. She doesn’t deserve my attention, and she certainly doesn’t deserve Peeta’s.

     “Look, Glimmer,” says Peeta finally. He sounds regretful, but in his eyes I can tell that he’s anything but. “I came with some friends, and I have to catch up with them, so. It was nice seeing you again, good luck in class and stuff. Yeah.”

     “Hmm. Yeahh,” she grins and leans in for a hug, which he reciprocates to the bare minimum. Patting her back and pulling away in a matter of seconds. “See you around, Mellark.”

     “Yeah,” he says, smiling and backing away. As soon as her back is turned, he turns and makes his way towards me, where I’ve been leaning against the wall for the last twenty minutes. Peeta grimaces and tugs me forward, pulling me up the nearest flight of stairs before Glimmer can change her mind about letting him go.

     “Ew,” I say. He nods and looks up and down to determine that we’re alone. Once he’s sure, Peeta collapses onto the steps and rubs his forehead. He’s not going to say anything about the encounter, or about anything at all. I sink down beside him, only because I haven’t a clue what else I should do. I don’t know how to find Finn and Annie in this convoluted venue, and I don’t have the social skills to enjoy myself anywhere else.

     It seems like Peeta is always the most familiar thing in a world of strangeness.

     The stairwell is quiet. Not silent, for the cacophony in the hallways above and below leak in through the doors and walls. But the music is faint and the voices are like whispers, and the loudest thing I can hear right now is the rustling of Peeta’s clothes when he shifts and turns to look at me. I slide along the step so that our legs and shoulders aren’t pressed against each other and there’s a few inches of space between us. Wrinkles form on his forehead, but he doesn’t protest.

     “So how are things?” he asks, and his words nearly echo off the walls and stairs.

     “Good. Fine.”

     “Your sister?” he ventures. “How’s she?”

     “All right. She’s doing better than I was at her age, starting high school. Prim doesn’t have a hard time adjusting or making new friends,” I say. “Everybody loves Prim.”

     “I always wanted to be your friend,” he says, surprising me. I meet his eyes and raise one brow, and he stares steadily back. There’s no dishonesty in him, and for a moment I am convinced that Peeta is incapable of lying at all. “I mean, we were always a year apart, but I still saw you in the halls and at recess…”

     “Peeta,” I say. He stops talking and looks at me intently. “You want to be _everyone’s_ friend. That’s who you are.”

     He sighs, shaking his head. “No. This is different.”

     I open my mouth to argue when the door to the stairway swings open, revealing Finn. He smirks and examines us closely. “Am I interrupting something?” he asks.

     “No,” Peeta and I both say. At the same time.

     “No,” I repeat. Finn remains unconvinced. He cocks his eyebrow at Peeta, who is turning a deep shade of red and tugging at his sleeve. He shakes his head and doesn’t look at me, and after a minute, he stands up.

     “I’m going to get a drink,” he says, and pounds up the stairs. I watch him go, and once he’s out of sight, I look at Finn.

     “Where’s Annie?”

     “Talking with some friends. She sent me down to find you guys, make sure you weren’t lost,” he says, striding forward and sitting a few steps below me. “Or that you hadn’t been mauled by a bear or something. As much as I love her, she worries too much. So, what were you guys talking about?”

     “High school,” I reply shortly.

     “That’s right, you’re from the same little town, Something Village,” he says, leaning back and draping his arms over a step. He looks completely at ease, though not like he belongs here, sprawled over cold tiled steps. He belongs on a couch somewhere, with Annie beside him, chatting with people and having a good time. “I’ve been there, it’s cute.”

     I nod.

     “You’re not very expressive, you know that?” he asks. I frown. Finn chuckles and continues. “I don’t mean it in a bad way. It’s just that you don’t smile much. The most emotion I’ve seen you express was homicide.”

     “Homicide isn’t an emotion.”

     “Homicidal, then,” says Finn. “And you’re so…I don’t know, you don’t have the same mannerisms people do. Like people mess with their hair or their necklaces, or they bite their lip or something. I’m not saying you’re weird, I swear, I’m just saying I’ve never seen that before.”

     “Well.”

     There’s a silence between us. Finn pulls a Ziploc out of his pocket and peels it open, reaching inside. He pops whatever’s in it into his mouth and smiles.

     “Sugar cube?” he offers, holding out his hand. I stare. “Yeah, they’re usually just for horses and cups of tea, but life’s too short to care about designated purpose.”

      I shake my head, and he eats another.

     Eventually, Finn stands and offers his hand to help me up. I let him, and together we leave the stairwell behind. He leads me through hallways and around corners until we find Annie again, tucked away in a corner scrawling lyrics onto her arm. Finn lets her finish before dragging her onto the makeshift dance floor that’s really a dining room, and I watch them jump and shimmy and shake and do whatever they please, even if it doesn’t match the actions of the dancers around them. They move individually and together at once, having more fun with their improvisation than anyone using technique.

     I’m utterly surprised when Annie pulls away and runs up to me, grabbing my hands.

     “Come on,” she pleads. “Dance with us!”

     Finn stands on the dance floor with his arms crossed, grinning idiotically as his girlfriend tries to coerce me into joining the fray. And because it is Annie who is asking, eventually I have to give in. She grins and marches me over to where Finn is bobbing his head and mouthing lyrics dramatically, and catches me off guard when she lets go of me and pushes me toward him. He takes my hands and spins me around before letting go. He takes Annie by the waist and sways back and forth for a moment, before she pulls away and dances with me. It goes on like that, all of us dancing with each other in turn, sometimes all strung together and jumping ridiculously. I don’t even care, because it’s fun. Annie’s hair is flung everywhere and Finn overdoes it the whole time, and I enjoy myself a lot more than I thought I would.

     The music floods my ears, and before I realize what I’m doing, I’m singing along. Annie beams at me and joins in until we’re screaming the lyrics at the top of our lungs. Finn leaves us there, mumbling something inaudibly, but we ignore him. Neither of us has had a drink, but we feel the buzz of the party kicking in. I’m fueled by her energy, and she’s fueled by everything else, and we go on like that for enough songs that one of them repeats.

     When our throats are dry and our joints overworked, only then do we stop and pull back from the dance floor, finding Finn taking up an entire sofa and pretending to nap despite the blaring music.

     Annie pokes him until he laughs, and I smile at how good they are together.

     “I wanna take Katniss to the roof,” says Annie as she leans over him. He tugs on her hair and she swats his hand away. “Stop that. Do you want to come along?”

     “No,” he says. “You go ahead. I still haven’t tracked down everyone I wanted to say hi to. Maybe I’ll meet you up there?”

     “Okay. Bye.” She leans down to kiss him, and his fingers wrap around hers while their lips move together. I look away. When they’ve said their goodbyes, Annie grabs my hand and drags me out into the hallway. I’m pretty sure a good two-thirds of the student body is here tonight, and that many of them have brought friends from other schools too. I catch a glimpse of one of the archers from the activities fair, and a lot of people in my classes. Some of them recognize me and say hello, but most don’t. I usually sit in the back.

     On the roof, we’re met with a burst of cool air. From where I stand, I can see the silhouette of the campus below. The courtyard is lit at night and some dorm windows glow. Streetlights on the roads are like persistent fireflies and the stars above are dimmed by the light pollution in the sky. The roof of Capitol Suites doubles as a greenhouse and garden area, with flower boxes and a glass structure full of green and pink. I notice that there are a lot of roses.

     Annie and I weave through the maze of flowers and settle on a bench. The night air is sweet, and I don’t want to go back into the mess of people. What Finn called a party is really a massive gathering that I’m not sure there’s even a word for. It’s a lot of mayhem and strangeness and even though I’ve had some fun, it’s still not my cup of tea.

     “I like these woods,” I say, casting my eyes over the treetops. “They remind me of home. There’s a fence around some of Collins Village, blocking off the woods, but I’ve known how to get past it since I was little. My friend Gale and I would pick berries and climb trees and swim in the river while our mothers thought we were at the park.” I laugh. “They had no idea.”

     “Finn and I grew up on the coast. In high school we had a lot of beach parties and stuff,” she says with a happy little sigh. “The house I grew up in overlooked the ocean—I could hear it every night when I went to sleep. I’m starting to miss that, now.”

     “It’s not far, is it?” I ask. She shakes her head.

     “It’s in North Carolina, but it’s a bit of a drive. Finn says he’ll take me back sometime soon. Last year he took the trip almost every weekend, to come see me. I didn’t realize how far he came until I joined him this year.”

     Annie’s hair blows around in the breeze and she tucks strands of it behind her ears. Her lyrics are smudged with sweat and her little charm bracelet twinkles and clicks together. It has seashells and a trident dangling from it, and it occurs to me how much nautical influence there is in her wardrobe and décor. I wonder if it helps with the homesickness or if it makes it worse.

     The door to the roof creaks open, and I expect the emerging figure to be Finn. He did say he’d meet up with us, after all.  Instead it’s Peeta, shutting the door tightly behind him and leaning his forehead against it. He doesn’t seem to notice Annie and I as he taps his head against the door repeatedly, hard enough for it to hurt at least a little bit.

     “Goddammit,” he slurs, turning around and staggering over to the edge of the roof. He braces his hands against it and hangs his head, mumbling under his breath. I catch a few words, but nothing that makes sense. I figure he’s had a bit to drink.

     Annie gets up and starts walking over, very slowly and cautiously. I stay put.

     Peeta groans, startling her into stopping. He collapses on the ground and curls up against the little brick wall, covering his face and threading his fingers through his hair. He seems very distressed and pretty drunk, and I don’t know whether I should intervene. I’m not that close to Peeta, but I still care about him more than I like to admit.

     I think it’s always that way. I always try to forget how much the world around me and the people in it, especially the people in it, affect me.

     “Peeta,” Annie says, crouching beside him. His face is shadowed by her narrow frame, but in the way he holds himself, I can tell he isn’t exactly smiling. He turns to look at her, and she wraps one of his large boy hands in both of hers. “Hey.”

     “Ugh. Annie. Never drink,” he says. “I feel shitty as shit.”

    “Yeah, I bet you do. How much did you have?” she asks him. He holds up four fingers and stares at them intently. “Four beers? Like bottles or cups?” 

     “Cups. I threw most of it up, though.”

     “I’m calling Finn. We’ll take you home, how about that?” she says, sitting down and folding her legs. She pulls her phone from her bag and leans over it, the screen lighting her face in an almost ghostly blue. In seconds, she’s holding it up to her ear and speaking. “We forgot to watch Peeta,” she says ruefully. I wonder why he has to be watched. There’s a crackling reply, and she continues. “He says four, though some of it…umm…” she makes a sound that’s probably supposed to resemble projectile vomiting. “Um, mostly staggering and mumbling. Seems pretty upset with himself about something. No, I haven’t asked.”

     She covers the mouthpiece and turns to Peeta.

     “On second thought, I might’ve had five,” he says. She sighs.

     “Okay. But sweetheart, why so many?” Annie is very gentle when she asks, and I think that she is very good at this. I wonder how many times she’s had to deal with a drunk Peeta.

     “Well you see, I seem to be mind-numbingly infatuated with a girl I’ve known forever.”

     I’m surprised he can say “mind-numbingly infatuated” without too much difficulty. He must not be as drunk as I originally thought. After all, he claims to have had only five beers.

     Annie glances at me discreetly. “Of course,” she says into the phone. “That’s what it’s always about.”

     “ _Annie_ ,” says Peeta, lightly pulling on her arm. Demanding her attention like a petulant child. “She hardly knows I’m alive.”

     “Shh,” she says, patting his arm. “Yes, _Finnick_ , we do have to go _now_. Your socializing can wait until next time. Peeta is far more important right now. Get your butt up here.”

     She hangs up and tucks her phone away. Peeta sighs heavily through his lips, and they vibrate in the horse-like way that lips do when you push so much air through them. Annie pushes his hair out of his face in a motherly gesture, or like an elder sister. It reminds me of when Prim is sick, and I do the same thing to feel her forehead and check for fever.

     “She knows you’re alive,” says Annie soothingly.

     “Then there’s someone else,” he whines.

     “Maybe, I don’t know. You could always ask her,” she replies. “Don’t be so hard on yourself about it, Peeta. Your entire existence should not depend on one girl.”

     He hides his face again. Annie sighs and watches the door, waiting for Finn. I stay put, watching the train wreck from the sidelines. Annie and Finn know Peeta better than I do, and they know how to handle this. It’s clearly happened before. I want to help, of course I want to help, but I doubt he sees me the same way I see him—as an anchor. At a school full of people I don’t know, where pretty much every other person has immense potential, integrity, or aspiration, I tend to feel small and out of place. But Peeta is a tangible, living and breathing reminder of the place I came from.

     When Finn shows up, he looks a lot less cheerful than I’ve seen him so far. His face is not exactly grim, but there’s faint worry etched into his features, and it makes him look so much older. He helps Annie get Peeta to his feet and supports him the best he can with their height difference. Annie falls into step beside them, being closer to Peeta in height. I trail behind them as they haul him down the stairs.

     The party goes on around us, because of course, Peeta isn’t their problem. A few people stop and ask if he’s all right, to which Finn and Annie answer _yes_ and _he’s fine_ and Peeta grumbles about unrequited love and how he can’t figure out how to be good enough. It’s a little odd to hear; despite his humility, I never would’ve thought Peeta would think himself substandard. Finn eventually gives up on trying to drag him down all the hallways and staircases, and we hunt down the elevator tucked away in a corner of the building.

    When they back into the elevator, Peeta looks a little shocked to see me. I step inside and press the button for the garage, watching as the doors slide shut before me. When I glance behind me, he’s still struggling to stay on his feet, but he seems somewhat more alert. His eyes are wide and his face is flushed.

     He stares at me the entire time. Annie and Finn shoot glances at each other but keep their mouths shut. I don’t say anything either, listening instead to the tone that chimes every time we pass a floor. It doesn’t take long to get to the basement level, of course, but it feels like it’s been a while. We make our way to the car, where Annie helps Peeta into the backseat. When she reaches to help him with the seatbelt, he stops her and shakes his head.

     “I can do it.”

     “Peeta,” she says, unconvinced. Determination sets his jaw and he pushes her hand away more forcefully.

     “Annie. I. Can. Do. It.” His tone is clipped. I raise my eyebrows at Annie as she slides into shotgun, and she shakes her head. Beside me, Peeta begins to fumble with his buckle. I situate myself and Finn checks his mirrors and we wait.

     And we wait. He’s taking forever, his drunken hands trembling.

      “Here,” I say, reaching over and clicking the seatbelt together with ease. Peeta seems to turn even more red, and I realize the color in his cheeks isn’t caused by his state of intoxication. He’s humiliated. “Hey. Don’t freak out about all that. Half of them will be worse off by the end of the night.”

     “What?” he chokes out.

     “The people in the hallway? Isn’t that why you’re embarrassed?” I ask. He gulps and presses himself into the seat. In the front, Finn starts the engine and Annie fidgets in her seat. An awkward silence has settled inside the car, punctuated only by the sound of the engine running as we pull out of the parking space.

     “Peeta,” says Annie, twisting in her seat. “Are you good? Do you need a bag?”

     “I won’t puke,” he says, gazing out the window and clenching his jaw. She continues to look concerned, but she doesn’t press him. We drive out of the parking garage and start to leave the premises. Peeta watches the trees fly by as we drive downhill, Finn cursing when some sort of animal darts across the road. Other than that, everyone is decidedly quiet. When Finn pulls into the parking lot in front of dormitory twelve, it’s well past midnight and the party still glows in the distance.

     Peeta manages to haul himself out of the car, refusing help when it is offered. He insists on walking on his own, though he does so with a slight stagger and some unsteadiness. He holds the door open as the rest of us trudge inside, and braves the stairs without anyone to lean on. On the second floor we pause and crowd together on the landing. Nobody speaks and nobody really moves, all eyes on Peeta, waiting for his next move. He sighs.

    “Stop hovering, for God’s sake. I’ve sobered up enough to take care of myself,” he finally grumbles. “Finn, walk your girlfriend home. Annie, stop worrying, I’m fine. Katniss…” Peeta stops short. His expression softens as he looks at me. “Katniss, can I talk to you for a minute?”

     I hesitate. All eyes are on me now.

     “Yeah, sure,” I say. Finn and Annie edge past me and start up towards the third floor, and Peeta watches their retreating forms. He leans on the door to the second floor hallway until they’re gone. Unlike in the Capitol Suites building, dormitory twelve only has one place you can find stairs, and the elevator is conveniently placed right beside it, though nobody really uses it.

     When the young couple has vanished, Peeta pushes through the doorway and beckons for me to follow him. He strides crookedly down the hallway.

     “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he says. “I’m kind of a lightweight, and I got carried away.”

     “It’s okay,” I tell him. “You seem all right now.”

     “Yeah. Mostly because of the um, upchucking I did earlier. Once some of it is out of my system I guess I sober up faster,” says Peeta, shrugging. It sets his whole body off balance and I think he’s going to fall over, so I reach out to steady him. He simply stares at my hand until I move it. “I still feel off, obviously, and I’m gonna be as good as dead in the morning. I freak out, drink, freak out further, and then stop functioning for a day. I don’t know why I think it’s worth it. It isn’t.”

     “This is why they tell you in school that alcohol is a no-no.”

     “This is why people sometimes think it’s the work of the devil,” he says. “The fucking hangovers.”

     I laugh, despite myself. Peeta smiles.

      “So, um, did I make a big scene or just a little one? I was really too busy being a drunken idiot to really notice,” he says jokingly. “Did I break into a heartfelt ballad? I can never remember when that happens.”

     “No, no, you just mumbled about your crush,” I say. “Does she drive you to drinking a lot?”

     He gives me a sidelong glance. “It’s me who does the drinking, because I get stressed out about little stupid things. It’s not her fault.”

     “Peeta?”

      “What?” He turns his head completely to look at me this time, his gaze a muddled blue. He’s definitely still a little tipsy, but not enough to really distort what he’s saying and thinking, I guess.

     “This girl. She’s not worth that. I bet,” I pause, smiling at him a little bit. We’ve stopped walking, and he’s pulling out his key—we must be in front of his and Finn’s room. “I bet that she could live a thousand years and still not deserve you.”

    My words seem to take him off guard, making him drop his keys. I reach down and scoop them up, depositing them back in his hand with a jingling sound. He has a UNC Panem key chain and his boot laces are double-knotted tightly. His hand closes over the keys and he stares at me.

     “Katniss…”

     I shake my head as he trails off. “Good luck, Peeta. And good night.”

     With that I turn and head back towards the staircase, back towards my own dorm. He doesn’t try to stop me. I hear him open and close his door as I go, and when I look back, the hallway is an empty stretch of cheap flooring and fraying rugs, the light fixtures above casting yellowish light over it all.

     As I walk upstairs, I decide that my dorm room could use a break from me. There’s more than enough laundry for me to take home and Annie probably wouldn’t mind having the weekend to herself. She can sing and dance and jump on her bed all she wants when I’m not there. And plus, it’s about time I went home, because I am really, really starting to miss Prim.


	3. Chapter 3

The Volkswagen runs smoothly for a vehicle of its age. I don’t know exactly when my mother bought it, but it was before I was born, before she married my father and moved into the little old Everdeen cottage with him. And even then, the car was kind of old. A good amount of my childhood was spent crawling across the seats of the VW, climbing in and out of it and sitting behind the wheel pretending to steer. When Prim was old enough to play with me, she would cry when I hogged the wheel and told her she was too little.  
Now, she sits there, all grown up. She leans over the wheel, mindful of the horn of course, and watches as streams of soap run down the windshield. She waves at me through the suds and it’s hard to grasp that she’s already almost fifteen years old. Sooner than I like to think, my Primrose will have a driver’s license to her name and proof that she’s not too little anymore. 

     I stick my tongue out at her and roll up my sleeves again, even though they’re already drenched at the hem. I’m almost done giving the aging Beetle a thorough washing, though I would already be finished if Prim had helped the whole time. About halfway through I squeezed soapy water directly into her hair and she threw the towel in, quite literally, causing a lot of water to splash out of the bucket. I admit that I might’ve brought this solitude on myself. But I think that it’s worth it, for the shrill sound of annoyance she made as I repeatedly called her a little duck.

     “Tell me again why she needs washing?” asks Prim as she lovingly strokes the steering wheel. Prim has an odd attachment to the Beetle, caressing the dashboard and such and using feminine pronouns when referring to it.

     “Bird shit,” I reply. “Lots and lots of dried and crusted bird shit.”

     She wrinkles her nose.

     When I finish scrubbing down the car, I take the garden hose to it, Prim remaining inside. She rolls the windows back up and smiles at me through the onslaught of water. The soap and water all pool around the bottom of the car, sinking between the gravel and soaking the dirt beneath. I shut off the hose and drag Prim out of the Beetle and into the house so we can change into dry clothes. I put on another pair of old jeans and my father’s shirts, and Prim emerges from the bathroom in a sundress with her wet hair tumbling down her back.

     “Quack,” I say, and she playfully shoves me into the kitchen. Our mother isn’t home, and if she were she’d be watching television or hiding in her bedroom eating chocolate cereal and giving zero shits. Like always, Prim and I are left to fend for ourselves. I rummage through the refrigerator’s meager contents, cursing her incompetence—when I lived here, I kept the fridge full of cheese and meat and vegetables, all the things a growing girl needs in her diet. But now, there’s a container full of cold pizza and some bottles of salad dressing.

     I think that I’ll call it to her attention when she comes home. I’ll rant about how she’s the caretaker of the house now and it falls upon her to take care of Prim. I’ll make sure my sister is hidden away when I shout at our mother for being better at nursing strangers back to heath than she is at raising her own children.

     But as much as I want to yell at her, I know that when the time comes, I won’t have the nerve to do it. I know that I’ll see the frown lines etched into her aging face, where she should have laugh lines, and I know that I’ll look into her eyes and see an emptiness, a void that’s grown since I left for college. Those eyes used to be clear and bright, like Prim’s, but now they’re just murky waters polluted by loss and misery.I haven’t had the heart to yell at my mother since I was twelve, when we were all still raw and bleeding from Dad’s passing. And even if I tell myself that I’ll stand up to her today, I know that I won’t. I won’t and I probably never will.

     “Hmm. Lunch at the bakery, then?” I ask, pulling back from the refrigerator and shutting it tightly. Prim watches me carefully, knowingly, but I just stare at her and wait for an answer. She finally nods and we head out the brightly painted front door.

     The door was painted fire-engine red when my father was a child, and it has been that color ever since. The house around it is cream-colored brick with a white-washed front porch and picket fence, and ivy curls up the walls and posts. The garden is a sprawling mass of different plants, herbs and flowers crowding the stone paths and branching out over the fence and into neighboring property. The little house is bordered by empty fields that served as our playground, and it is atop a little hill that we’d roll down while giggling and squealing. In my mind I can see younger versions of Prim and myself darting in and out the front door, treading on the flowers despite our mother’s warnings, letting our hair ripple behind us as we frolicked in the meadow next door. The age when everything was bright and new, and all was well in our family of four.  
Now there are only three of us, and we still live in our pretty little cottage overflowing with nostalgia, but someone is missing. The functionality of our family depended on him, and he’s gone. I feel like the only connection I have with my mother is Prim. I feel like our entire relationship collapsed when he died, leaving me with broken things where my heart should be and a despondent mother that neglected to pick up the pieces. Prim was my little light in the storm and to this day, she is the only person in this world that I am certain I love.

     Prim slides into the passenger seat and turns on the radio, which crackles with white noise. It never gets good reception here, but she will never stop trying. I make sure she’s wearing her seatbelt and she scolds me until I’m wearing mine, and then we’re rolling backwards down the gravel drive and headed towards the town square, where the bakery is located.

     Collins Village is a patchwork quilt of stores and houses and empty lots. Sometimes you’ll find a span of overgrown grass and weeds in the middle of a neighborhood, or a book store on the corner. There’s at least one block where one side of the road is inhabited and the other has a lone house among yards and yards of weeds and grass. Town square is no exception, with a park in the center and a jumble of houses and shops around it. I park by the side of the road, right across from the bakery, and we stride across the street with our arms linked and our still-damp hair drying in the sun.

     It’s not busy. A few patrons are scattered among the tables, but Prim and I are certainly the youngest. One of the Mellark boys, Peeta’s eldest brother, is running the register. He’s just as detached as anyone working a job they don’t care for, staring blankly at us as we order two turkey sandwiches and some cheese buns. Then he collects the cheese buns from the smooth and reflective glass cases and puts them on a tray that he slides toward Prim while I dig through my pockets for exact change. We’ll have to wait for the sandwiches, since they make them freshly in the kitchen.

     There’s a little booth in the corner that’s vacant, so Prim carts our tray to it and slides in one side, while I take the other. She bites into a warm, delicious-looking cheese bun and I pull the rest of them towards me with a false glare, which earns me a glare in return. But Prim is not very good at glaring and I eventually laugh at her.

     “I love these things,” I say, digging into the one on top of the plate. There are nine left now that Prim has eaten one, but before we leave the plate will be empty. If Prim doesn’t eat all of her share, then I will.

     “I think everyone in town knows that,” she replies as I take my first bite. My eyes roll back into my head, which is of course, overly dramatic, but I don’t care. My sole purpose at this moment is to devour these cheese buns and spend quality time with my sister—making her laugh is one thing I will always try to do, no matter who is watching.Plus, the cheese bun tastes heavenly. The aroma fills my nostrils and freshly-baked goodness warms my entire body. Over the years I have developed quite the taste for these things. Some would even call it an addiction. Honestly I don’t care how many people judge me for scarfing down an entire baker’s dozen in an hour that one time; I’d gladly do it again.

     Prim eyes me and piles up her half of the order on the table, claiming them for herself in case I get any ideas. Not that I’d really steal Prim’s food, of course. That would go against everything I stand for.

     “Well,” says a soft voice above me. Two plates hit the table, the sandwiches atop them piled high with turkey and lettuce, with long pickle spears on the side. “If it isn’t the lovely Everdeen ladies.”

     “Peeta?” I say around my mouthful. I swallow, mortified, and repeat myself. “Peeta, what…?”

     “I work here,” he replies. Prim looks thoroughly confused.

     “No, I knew that, I mean,” I stop and frown, stumbling over the words I need to say. I’m not sure what I should say, with Prim looking back and forth between us as she is, puzzled and suspicious. “I mean, because of last night.”

     Before he can answer, Prim jumps in. “What happened last night? Katniss?" 

     Peeta grins and pulls a chair over. He sits on it backwards and leans forward, his elbows on the table, making himself comfortable. I gape at him, a cheese bun in my hand and my eyes wide with the complete befuddlement I feel.

     “What happened last night, you ask?” Peeta smirks at Prim. “Me and your sister, we partied hard. Hard enough that by the end of the night, I was a lump of drunken mush and she had to practically carry my ass back to my dorm.”

     “That’s _not_ how it happened,” I protest, putting down the cheese bun. “And you said you’d have a bad hangover. Like, bad enough that you’d be lying in bed all day.”

     “You go to school with _Peeta Mellark_?” Prim says excitedly. “ _Why didn’t you tell me_?”

     Peeta pretends to look taken aback. His jaw drops and he stares at me. “You didn’t tell her? I’m offended. I thought our friendship meant something to you.”

     “But…I mean…I didn’t…”

     He laughs, and so does Prim. Their laughter mingles, hers high and musical and his low and easy, though it shakes his shoulders and dislodges some of the flour settled there.

     “Relax, Katniss,” he says. “I’m joking. Can’t I joke? And as for the hangover, every time somebody asks me to do something part of me just hisses _NO_ and urges me to retreat back into the shadows from which I came. Plus I woke up with a massive headache curbed only by the occasional dose of Advil.”

     “Why come to work?” I ask.

     “I feel obligated. I feel a sense of duty,” he replies. “I must serve the people of Collins Village, whether it be baking cheese buns or assembling turkey sandwiches with extra mayo.”

     Flour is crusted in his hair and dusts his clothing. There are bags under his clear blue eyes and he blinks a lot, as if he’s trying hard to stay awake. Now that I really look at Peeta, I can see the evidence of last night in the way he slouches over the chair and rubs his face. Pale stubble dots his jaw beneath all the flour, visible only because the light is catching it a certain way. His smile is wide, though, and even though it’s clear how tired he is, he doesn’t really seem to care all that much.

     I nibble on the end of my pickle and Prim takes large bites of her sandwich, visibly enthused as she compliments Peeta on his craftsmanship. He thanks her and continues to sit there, watching us eat in an uncomfortable silence. Actually, I’m the only one who seems uncomfortable. Prim doesn’t care that nobody speaks, she’s too busy eating. Peeta seems strangely content as he looks between the two of us.

     “You’re still wearing your necklace,” he points out randomly. My hand flies to the collar of my shirt, where the little mockingjay pendant has fallen out the front and is dangling in full view. Of course, I am still wearing it on purpose and not just because I forgot—the damn thing is hard to forget, the way it whips around while I’m sleeping and nestles itself on my chest. I just like how it looks.

     “Yeah,” I say. “I am. Your point?”

     Peeta smiles.

     “Nothing. Just noticing.” He pushes himself to his feet and stands over us for a moment. He checks his watch and says, “I’ll be right back,” before lumbering away into the kitchen.

     Prim takes this opportunity to bombard me with questions. They jumble together in my head as she talks faster than I realized she could, wondering why I didn’t tell her Peeta went to UNC Panem and how the events of last night really played out and if he’d been a moody drunk or a pukey one—to which I answer a little bit of both—and whether or not I think he has a crush on me. I’m unable answer all of them before Peeta comes back, freed of his apron and some of the flour. He turns his chair around so that he is sitting in it the proper way and places a brown paper bag on the table.

     “Can I join you ladies? I don’t want to impose, but my shift just ended and I was going to eat here anyway,” he says. 

     “No,” answers Prim, before I can say otherwise. “You’re totally welcome. Katniss, eat your sandwich. You’re like a five year old.”

     “Excuse me?” I ask her, my voice changing pitch. She giggles, which was my intention.

     “I mean because you’ve been all over the cheese buns but you haven’t touched your actual meal,” she explains, though I don’t really need her to. “I did that when I was five, you know.”

     “Of course I know,” I say. “I was the one who told you to eat the broccoli or else Santa would make a special visit one night and chop off a chunk of your hair.”

      Peeta raises his eyebrows. “That’s a harsh punishment, don’t you think?”

     “I was nine, how creative would you expect me to be? And that was her Rapunzel phase, so she was slightly obsessed with growing her hair out,” I tell him. “If I threatened her toys or clothes or Christmas presents, she wouldn’t give in nearly as easily.”

     “I will neither confirm nor deny the truth in that,” says Prim, shaking her head. Peeta chuckles.

     “So what were you talking about? Have I missed any important gossip?” he inquires. “Or were you just talking about me? I bet you were. Was it the flour? Is it unfashionable to wear flour as an accessory?”

      I can’t help but laugh, and Prim joins in. Peeta stops unloading his lunch bag and spreads his arms wide in a gesture meaning basically _dude why are you laughing I’m being serious_ , though of course he isn’t being serious at all. I’m starting to realize that Peeta jokes around a lot more than I originally thought. He teases lightheartedly and is slightly self-deprecating, and his sense of humor is oddly refreshing to me. As we eat our lunches—most of the eating done by Peeta and myself, considering that Prim finished off her own plate of food long before I even made it halfway through mine—he continues to bring laughter into our conversation. He tells us a story about a prank he played on his brother once, and another story about his trip to Mexico this summer with Finn and Annie. He recalls getting buried in the sand and splashing around dramatically in shallow water until Finn had to “save” him, which apparently included mouth-to-mouth.

     “I can swim, though, kind of,” he says after he’s finished laughing. “Finn is teaching me.”

     “That must be fun. _Mellark_ ,” I say, mimicking Finn’s drawl. “Stop flailing! Mellark, you’re veering too far to the right, you’re going to bump into the water aerobics class!” I wink in a random direction. “Speaking of which, how are you doing ladies?”

     Peeta nods his approval. “Hands-down the best impression of Finnick Odair I’ve ever witnessed.”

     He shares a bag of potato chips with Prim and me and I finish off my turkey sandwich, but we keep talking. The cheese buns are gone, and so is most of the food, but I’m too busy laughing through the story I’m telling about little Prim and the kitten she found by the side of the road. Buttercup, she called him, apparently for the color of his fur. I don’t think he’s like a flower at all, I say, because of his mashed in face and surly disposition. Prim insists it’s only because he still remembers how I almost drowned him in the bathtub when she brought him home—which was not entirely accidental. Pets are hard to care for, especially when they had worms like Buttercup did, and I didn’t think we could keep him. But Prim broke her piggy bank for him, scrounging up the necessary funds to get him some food—eventually we got our mother to pitch in and pay for vet appointments and whatnot. I still don’t like the cat, the way he’s possessive over Prim and likes to hide in the linen closet, getting hair all over the clean sheets, but keeping him made my sister happy. I still remember how she carried him around everywhere she went and he stayed still, content in her arms—I never bonded with that cat, but Prim certainly did.

     Eventually, however, I catch a glimpse of Peeta’s watch and realize that we’ve been here far longer than we expected. I start to brush crumbs into a napkin, though Peeta insists that the table will be cleaned by an employee and I don’t have to worry about it. He helps me stack the plates and napkins and pushes the chair he used back to the table he took it from. Prim wiggles in her seat, and soon we’re leaving. Peeta follows us to the door, looking up at the attached bell as it announces our departure.

     “See you at school, then?” he asks. I nod.

     “Yeah. See you.” I join Prim outside, and the door closes tightly behind us. Peeta still stands there, smiling through the glass. My sister is looking both ways before crossing the street, but as she dashes to the car I stay on the sidewalk for a moment. I smile at Peeta largely and genuinely and wave goodbye.

     I’m about to cross when the door behind me opens, triggering the bells. Peeta strides up beside me and brushes the lightest of touches against my arm.

     “Katniss, um,” he presses his lips together. He isn’t smiling, though the perpetual light in his eyes still shines brightly. “About last night. I was gonna tell you something, in the hallway, but well…you kinda walked away and left me hanging.”

     “What? Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, and I mean it. He shakes his head and furrows his brow. Wrinkles form on his forehead, but they make him look younger, like a puzzled child instead of a slightly hung-over college student.

     “No, don’t be. You didn’t know,” he assures. “It’s just. Well, what I said in the stairwell? About always wanting to be your friend?”

     “Yeah?”

     “Um…what I’m saying is…” he pauses, twisting his lips in indecision. He reaches back to massage the nape of his neck, and then pulls his hand forward through his disheveled blond hair, which falls right back into place. “I was going to explain that. Because you said, well you said that I feel that way about everybody. I wanted to tell you that I don’t. Not really. I’m nice to people, but that doesn’t mean I want to be their friend,” says Peeta. “But…I’ve known you since elementary school, but I never really got to know you, no matter how much I wanted to. When I first saw you on campus…I guess I saw it as another chance, you know?”

     I don’t quite know how to process this, so I just nod slowly. I do understand what he’s saying, after all.

     “And what I’m saying is that I’m glad. I’m glad you went to the party, even if I made a fool out of myself in front of you. I’m glad you walked with me back to my room, and we talked—I’m glad I can talk to you. I’m glad you showed up here, even though it was just this huge coincidence, I’m glad it happened. Because every word that comes out of your mouth, I feel closer to you, Katniss,” he spills it all from his mouth quickly and fluidly, like it’s good to get it off his chest. “There are people who like me for stupid reasons, like because I can throw a ball just so, or because I look the way I do. But, well, I think you don’t care about that very much, and that you can be a real friend, because you like the Peeta that they don’t really know exists.”

     I don’t know what to say. I gulp and stare at him, hoping I don’t look too blank and uncaring, but also hoping that I don’t look as shocked as I feel. Peeta smiles sheepishly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. I’ve been this close to him before—hell, I’ve been closer, but I never really noticed how small I am compared to him. Peeta, with all his smiles and goodwill, is not in the business of making people feel small. Really though, he’s a bit broad, with a muscular physique, a result of hours in the weight room, bulking up for football, and hauling around bags of flour. He’s of medium height for a guy, I guess, probably a little under six feet and at least five inches taller than me.

     He runs his hand through his hair again and looks at me expectantly.

     “Wow. Um. Thanks for telling me then,” I say, because I can’t think of any other words that fit. Across the street, Prim slams down on the Beetle’s horn, startling me enough that I jump and end up a little closer to Peeta. I draw away quickly. “I guess that’s my queue. I, um, I’ll see you later.”

     I jump off the curb and scamper across the street, rounding the car and sliding into the front seat. Prim dangles the keys in front of me and I grab them, starting the ignition.  
As I pull away from the curb, I see that Peeta has gone back inside. I drive off and Prim waves through the front window, and he waves back, his face obscured by the blocky letters spelling out BAKERY in blue and gold.

     “What were you talking about?” asks Prim as we drive on towards home.

     “Oh, nothing.”

     “Liarrrr,” she taunts, reaching over and tugging lightly on the end of my braid. I take one hand off the wheel to poke her stomach, making her giggle. “Stop it. Seriously though, what did he say? I know Peeta did most of the talking.”

     “You little spy, you,” I say. “What if I said he was talking about bread? Would you believe me then?”

     Prim shakes her head. She isn’t laughing anymore, just peering at me with curious eyes. I sigh. She’s probably not going to let this go.

     “He told me we were friends, basically,” I say. “I mean, he did talk a lot, but that was the gist of it.”

     “All that was about friendship?” she asks. “Hmm. Weird.”

     “All boys are weird, Prim, which is why you should stay well away from them until they grow up, lest they infect you with their weirdness.”

     “Katniss,” she says, raising her dainty little eyebrows at me. “That’s just a twist on the  _cooties_ thing. I outgrew cooties a long time ago. And besides, Peeta is technically grown up.”

     “Shh. Peeta is irrelevant,” I say.

     “Is he? Is he really?” she replies, leaning back in her seat and staring at me with more wisdom in her eyes than a fourteen year old should have.

     And I wonder if she has a point.


	4. Chapter 4

Peeta said I might see him at school, but it’s Wednesday evening and I still haven’t even caught a glimpse of him in the hall. He’s obviously around, attending classes and going to the dining hall for meals, but our paths have not crossed since Saturday afternoon when we had lunch at the bakery.

     Annie is telling me about a conversation she had with him and Finn, and I laugh at the appropriate moments not just to be considerate, but also because it’s genuinely funny. She is taking up most of the floor space, lying on her stomach and doodling on her arm once more, _you know me, I love to lose my mind._

     There’s a knock on the door, and she pushes herself up off the ground to see who it is. I stay in my chair, twisting and turning casually as I flip through one of the books I’ll be reading in class. It’s not as hefty as I expected it to be, but there’s plenty of complicated language in it. I’ve read a few passages over several times before I could really understand what they were meaning to say.

     By the lip-smacking sounds and giggling I hear, I deduce that it is Finn who has shown up at the door. I roll my eyes and don’t look up, preferring to ignore the display. But it isn’t long before Annie releases him and he saunters into the room, reaching around be to pluck the worn library paperback from my hands.

     “Hm. I remember this. Boring as hell,” he recalls, and tosses it onto my bedspread. I whirl around and fix him with a rather enraged look, but he doesn’t buy it. As much as Peeta hasn’t been around, Finn has made up for it in showing up about twice a day. He eats breakfast with Annie and walks her to class, and once he literally picked her up off a bench in the courtyard and carted her away from me, smugly tossing an apology over his shoulder at me. Finn is oddly unaffected by my glaring as he places his hands against the desk on either side of me, trapping me with his leanly muscled arms. “I have a proposition for you, Everdeen.”

     “I seem to be detained,” I reply. Finn smirks and leans in closer.

     “Hush. Courtyard. One hour. Wear…something more substantial than that,” he says, gesturing to my plain white shirt. “But nothing too fancy. You know what, Annie will dress you.”

     “I am not a child, Finnick. I can dress myself.”

     “That’s what you think,” he gloats, pulling back. “You do not know what I have planned. You could not possibly prepare properly without any assistance from my co-conspirator.”

     Annie smiles from the sidelines. I shoot an exasperated glance in her direction, but she just flops down on her bed and beams at me. Finn continues to look wildly smug, because by now he’s figured me out. He knows that I’ve got a soft spot for Annie, which isn’t surprising since I’ve been living with her for over a week now, and she is so much like Prim in her innocence and charm. He knows that eventually, for her, I might just give in. And of course, he’s right, but I’m not going to give him the satisfaction.

     Finn bends down to kiss Annie’s forehead before he goes, and I glare after him. The door shuts loudly and I can hear him laughing as he makes his way back towards the stairs, back to his own dorm room. I turn to my roommate, who hangs her head over the edge of her mattress and gives me a lopsided smile as her hair falls back to brush the floor.

     “Why does he constantly invade my personal space?” I ask.

     “To push your buttons. He's working on figuring you out, and he has that part down, I guess. He’s always had a knack for figuring people out,” she explains. “He likes to piece together their life stories and determine what makes them tick. You’re not that difficult, apparently.”

     I frown. I like to think that I’m hard to figure out, with a blank gaze and little body language, but if Annie’s right…I’m wrong. I hope that it’s just Finn’s special talent that lets him see through my walls, and not incompetence on my part. I don’t want people to know what I feel, or what I think, with the exception of those who are close to me—like Prim and Annie, and before we had our falling out, Gale.

     “So what is it? This thing in the courtyard?” I ask her. She shakes her head and tumbles off the bed, hitting the floor with a thump. Annie then scrambles to her feet, the entire movement performed with a clumsy sort of grace, and she sidles up to my dresser to thumb through it. “Come on, Annie.”

     “Shush. I’m not supposed to tell you,” she says, waving her hand at me in a dismissive gesture. She pulls a plain purple t-shirt out of one drawer, and then a pair of cutoff denim shorts out of another. “This should do,” she tells me as she tosses the clothes in my direction. They land on my bed. “Where’s your bird necklace?”

     “Why do I need a necklace?”

     “It’s pretty. Where is it?” she pokes through my tiny jewelry box, which really only contains some bracelets and a birthstone pendent that Prim gave me one year. The necklace she speaks of is actually still around my neck, hidden beneath the fabric of my shirt. I don’t tell her this; instead I shrug and reach for the clothes that have landed among my sheets. I change out of what I’m wearing, tossing the khakis and white tee on the floor, and put on what Annie picked out.   

     The shorts aren’t too short, and they don’t fall too low on my hips, but the shirt is long enough to cover most of the denim. If it were just a few inches longer, I’d look like I wasn’t wearing pants at all. I would never have paired these two garments together, but when I protest, Annie shuts me up with a hand over my mouth. I narrow my eyes at her, but she just grins and plucks at the chain around my neck. She pulls the mockingjay out from its hiding place and stands back to admire her selections. I sigh.

     Then Annie trades her overalls for a pair of athletic shorts and a UNC Panem tee that’s snug in all the right places. She pulls her hair back into a messy ponytail and fixes my braid—I don’t put up a fight for this, seeing as it was already coming undone. When she decides we’re good and ready for whatever Finn has bullied me into doing, there’s still a lot of time left before we have to be outside. I pick up the book again and start reading it from the beginning, instead of just leafing through. Annie pulls on her bulky headphones, as opposed to the inner-ear ones she wears sometimes, and starts to sing along to a tune I don’t know.

     Soon enough, though, she’s listened to an entire album and is returning the disc to its case, which she sets on top of the stack on her desk. Annie then tucks a bookmark between the pages of my great American novel and gently places it on the nightstand.

     “Time to go,” she says brightly, and I groan.

     Annie and I walk through the deserted hallway of our floor, and then we make our way down the stairs, passing a few people who are going up. Once we’re outside and treading the path to the courtyard, I fall behind and watch her warily as she practically skips ahead. The other dormitories are all in varying states of liveliness. In building five, I swear every light is on, but building ten must be full of early risers, because most of them seem to have gone to bed already. It’s not even ten o’clock yet, though, and it seems like the sun _just_ went down.

     The moon hangs low in the sky and the paths of the courtyard are lined with little solar-powered outdoor lights, the kind that come to life only once the natural lighting dims. Finn is standing tall on a bench, with a few other people crowded around him. I see the girl from the art club booth, though her hair is streaked with a vibrant blue today, and I can spot a few other people that Finn is friends with, including an older guy with a goatee whom I know studies technology and some members of the swim team. I don’t see Peeta, and for some reason, I’m a bit disappointed.

     As we draw nearer, Finn waves enthusiastically at us and hops down from his perch to sprint across the lawn. He swoops in and sweeps Annie up off her feet, hoisting her up onto his back so that she was wrapped around him in a piggyback fashion. He smirks at me and says, “Look who decided to come along. This’ll be enjoyable, won’t it my lovely?” he asks Annie, turning his head slightly towards her. She giggles and kisses him sloppily.

     “It will,” she agrees, and I cross my arms and stand up straighter. And then she asks exactly what I’ve been wondering, though she can’t know that I am. “Where’s Peeta?”

     “Oh, he’s inside. Still pulling together the last elements of tonight’s events,” he chuckles and begins to carry Annie up the sloping path, towards the rest of the group. I trail after them and Finn keeps talking. “That reminds me, I ought to send someone to help him. Hey, Johanna!” he calls. The blue-haired girl turns her head, narrowing her eyes. “Don’t look at me like that, you little shit. Go help Peeta carry out the thing.”

     She flips him off, but starts walking towards dormitory twelve, her hips swaying. A crooked grin forms across her face and she winks at me as she goes. Finn obviously used the term “little shit” affectionately. Gale called me that once, and I practically flew off the handle at him before he could explain that he didn’t mean to offend.

      “What thing?” I ask. Finn ignores me and lets Annie off so she can sit down on the bench. She crosses her legs and plants her hands on either side of her, shrinking in the presence of all these people. Apparently, her guard goes up when she thinks she’ll attract attention—in this small group of people, or walking through a crowded hallway. At the party she was just another face in the crowd and didn’t mind letting loose, but I see now that there are only a select few she’ll show her true self to. Myself included, or so it seems. I plant myself on the bench beside her and bump our shoulders together.

     Annie smiles. I look around, seeing two plastic storage tubs beside the bench, as well as a netted back full of some more plastic. I can’t quite figure out what was inside it, and Annie keeps distracting me by tugging on the end of my braid or reaching over to fiddle with my necklace. It’s probably on purpose, to keep me from deciphering the true purpose of this gathering. When Finn sits down on her other side and blocks my view completely as we wait for Peeta and Johanna to come along with whatever it is they’re bringing. It frustrates me that I don’t know what’s going on, but the way Finn looks at me is like he’s expecting me to get up and take a  closer look at the bag, and I don’t want to do what he expects me to do.

     So I sit and wait, reading some of Annie’s scrawled lyrics to pass the time. _I’ll still get butterflies years from now_ is printed along the inside of her arm, and she’s drawn a little butterfly right after the last word, and the one about losing one’s mind is still across the other side. Annie is constantly washing the words away and reapplying new ones, but sometimes you can still see traces of letters lingering on her skin. She’s a mess of ink and music, and I’ve started to love that about her.

     I can tell by the way Finn reads every word she’s written that he loves it too. Even now, as we wait around quietly, he’s intently staring at the bits of wisdom and nonsense and love that she plucks from songs and marks herself with. Annie notices, of course she notices, but she doesn’t cover up or ask us not to stare—she lets us read them, and that makes me feel special, because Annie doesn’t let just anybody read her. Like me that way, I think.

     “FINNICK ODAIR!” somebody shouts across the courtyard. Finn jumps up as everyone’s head turns, but one of the swimmers is obscuring my vision. But even though I can’t see, I somehow still know.

     Finn scrambles back up onto the bench and bellows, “WHAT?”

     The swimmer moves and I can see Peeta and Johanna struggling up the path with another plastic tub between them. Finn watches them smugly as they carry it together and finally set it down on my side of the bench. Everyone’s quiet for a second as Peeta wipes his hands on his jeans and straightens, opening his mouth to reply to Finn but stopping short when his eyes land on me.

     “Katniss,” he says, smiling. “Hi.”

     I lift one hand in greeting. Johanna makes a face and turns to Finn, finishing the scolding that Peeta hardly even started. “Why, exactly, do we need three enormous tubs of water? You’re really lucky your building has a fucking elevator, Odair,” she says, flipping blue hair out of her eyes.

     “Um. Yeah. What she said,” Peeta mutters, stumbling over his words. He slides his hand up through his dampened curls and shifts his weight. In comparison to Johanna’s hair, his eyes seem even bluer. He’s wearing a faded Scooby Doo t-shirt that I think is a hand-me-down from his brother and jeans with rips in the knees. He looks up at Finn, a tiny smile on his face, waiting for some sort of answer.

     “I imagine he wants to release his inner mermaid,” I say before I can stop myself. Peeta looks back at me and laughs. Finn jumps down from the bench and pulls me to my feet, slinging an arm around my shoulders.

     “She’s right, baker boy. Annie, did you bring the seashell bra?” asks Finn, giving us all a good view of his perfect teeth as he grins relentlessly. Annie can’t help but burst into laughter, bringing the joke to a screeching halt. Oh well. I smile anyway and wriggle away from Finn, swatting at him lightly. Johanna smirks and Peeta beams like it’s the best day of his life, though I’ve noticed over time that he looks like that most days.

     “Finn,” I say. “What is the water actually for?”

     “Oh. That’s right,” he replies, wandering around the bench to pick up the black netted bag, the kind gym teachers store dodgeballs in. He lugs it over and drops it at my feet by way of answer. “Nobody told Katniss the plan.”

     I stare down at the bag and then look back up at Finn. “Really?”

     Peeta steps closer, so that he’s standing beside me. He looks me up and down and keeps smiling. “What?” he asks. “Too childish for you?”

     I shake my head and kick the bag lightly. “No.”

     “Then what’s the problem?” Peeta laughs, and though I expect him to tug on the end of my braid playfully, he doesn’t. He’s standing close enough that we’d be pressed together if either of us were to move an inch, but he seems to be making a conscious effort not to touch me at all. I purse my lips and nudge the bag with my foot again.

     Finn tires of the standing around though, and he reaches down to open the bag with the drawstring at the top. He withdraws one of the more elaborate looking water guns and once again steps up onto the bench, holding it up above his head. The swimmer guys seem excited at least. Annie wiggles happily and gazes up at him, like he’s some sort of heavenly being. Johanna, Peeta, and the goateed man are all smiling. I don’t know what to feel.

     Finn, basking in the glory, instructs Peeta and the swimmer guys to drag the tubs of water to various locations around the courtyard. Peeta scolds him for not just having him put them there in the first place, which results in some shrugging and playful name-calling before Peeta goes for the nearest plastic container.

     “I’ll help you,” Johanna offers, and the way she smiles at him makes something in my gut twist and turn. Peeta looks confused but nods anyway. I watch them walk away, and strain my ears, hoping to pick up threads of their conversation. As far as I can tell, they aren’t really talking at all. Once they’ve placed the tubs, Peeta, Johanna, and the swimmers all jog back to the bench where Finn his admiring his choice in plastic weaponry.

      “Peeta, my good man, pass out the firearms,” says Finn with mock haughtiness.

     “Firearms?” I say, crossing my arms. “Why use the term fire? There’s no fire.”

     “Shut up,” Finn hisses, as if I’m embarrassing him. I’m not, of course. I don’t think Finn is ever embarrassed. “Or I’ll set _you_ on fire.”

    “Hello?” I say, picking up the bag and shaking it so the contents rattle. “Water guns. Water fight. _Water._ Fire no like water.”

     Finn cocks his head to one side and stares at me for a moment before breaking into a slow grin. He glances at Peeta and mouths something, and Peeta looks at me and smiles, blushing. What?

     Peeta picks a gun from the bag and tucks it into the waistband of his jeans before handing another to Annie, and then another to Johanna. Looking at the ones they have, I’m confused by all the colors and valves and such, which makes me dread this even more than I already did. When Peeta fishes a gun out of the bag for me, I stare at it blankly, unsure if I should take it from him or forfeit completely. So I look at his face, my gaze conflicted.

     He furrows his brow and leans in closer. “What’s wrong?” he whispers.

     I take the gun and turn it over in my hand, asking, “Um…how does it work? Like, what do I do with it?”

     “Katniss,” he says, somewhat astonished. “Are you telling me you’ve never had a water fight?”

     “Not with water guns. Hoses. Balloons. Splashing. But not guns,” I say, and force a smile. “I’m more of a bow and arrow girl, you know.”

     The corners of his mouth turn up.

     “I’ll show you how. Finn will let us fill up before he actually starts the free-for-all,” he assures me. “I’ll teach you how to work it and stuff, okay?”

     “Okay,” I say, really smiling at him this time. He smiles back and passes the rest of the guns to the rest of the people. When he’s done with that, Peeta discards the netted bag on the bench and stands nearby, waiting for Finn’s next instruction. Goofy, charming, charismatic Finn, bossing us around for the fun of it. And the fact that I was the only one who seemed to have a problem with it spoke volumes about his aforementioned charisma.

     He tells us to split up among ourselves to fill up the water guns. I follow Peeta as we trek across the courtyard to the tub that he and Johanna placed. Annie jumps off the bench and runs after us, falling into step beside me and smiling.

     “Come on, smile,” she says, poking me with the muzzle of her gun. “This is gonna be fun.”

     “I’ll believe it when I see it,” I reply.

     Annie grins as we reach the filling station and bends over the plastic tub, happily filling her little water pistol. I take a moment to examine the gun. Mine isn’t as complex as Finn’s and Peeta’s, and it seems like it could be fairly easy to operate once I get the hang of it. It isn’t like the cheap plastic ones you can get in the dollar store, but it isn’t a full blown super-soaker either. None of the ones Finn brought are like that.

     Once Peeta has filled up his own gun and has set it on the ground beside him, he gestures for me to join him in kneeling beside the water tub. When I do, he reaches over and carefully taking the water gun from my hands.

     “So here,” he says, running his hand over the curved part on the back. “This is where the water goes. You put it in with this valve thingy here.” Peeta flicks it open with his thumbnail and puts it in the tub. Bubbles rise up and pop at the surface as water filters into my gun. “You can always check whether it’s full by how heavy it is,” he says, pulling it out and letting me take it. I weigh it in my hand.

     “Is it full, then?” I ask him. He nods and shuts the valve. I look over the gun a bit more, and I can feel Peeta smiling at me as I do. My finger finds a trigger of sorts, oddly shaped but a trigger all the same, and I hold it up and send a little stream of water back where it came from.

     “And that’s how you shoot it,” says Peeta, grinning and sitting back. He looks around at everyone else fiddling with their guns. “You know what, any second now Finn will start screaming to shoot everyone in sight.”

     “Hm. Has he done stuff like this before?”

     “Yes,” says Annie. “He did it like, once a month back home. Other things too, like egg wars, or nylons filled with flour. Finn, for some reason, enjoys making messes. He’s only really done water wars in the courtyard though, since he doesn’t really want campus police getting pissed at him.”

     I’m about to respond when Finn blows a whistle.

     “Let the games begin,” he says, smirking. “May the odds be ever in your favor, bitches.”

     I turn to Peeta, blast him in the face with water, and run.

     Now, I like to think that I run pretty fast. I’m a pretty small person, and they say that smaller people are a tad more aerodynamic when it comes to running. But when you’re running from several tall boys with water guns, short legs don’t really get you very far.

     Finn blasts me repeatedly and I run from him, but that’s when Peeta catches up and starts shooting. I shoot the both of them right back, of course, and then they shoot at each other and unwittingly give me time to get away. I flee in a direction that I don’t see anyone, but then I feel a rush of cold water hit my neck. I squeal and shoot back before I fully register who I’m shooting at. It’s Johanna; she had hid behind a tree and waited for someone to approach before attacking. I start to run while shooting water at her with one hand, though the pistol’s range isn’t all that far.  Or maybe I’m just not pulling the trigger hard enough. 

     I pass Annie and send streams of water at her as I pass, and she laughs wildly and does the same to me, but we don’t stand around. I’m running low on water, and all the stations are a guarded. Stupid swim-team boys and their competitiveness. When I approach the nearest one, I wait until he’s not looking to sneak up behind him. The second he turns, I send water soaring straight into his ear and while he curses and fumbles with his pistol, I start to fill mine again. The swimmer boy manages to shoot water all across the front of my shirt, but soon enough I’m up and running again, and he follows, constantly shooting at my back. Then he’s not anymore, because Peeta dives between us with a battle cry and starts shooting water at him like some kind of maniac.

     I keep running.

     Finn spots me in the half-darkness and runs my way, shooting when he gets close enough, but I duck and run. I keep dodging the streams of water and run in zig-zaggy patterns trying to mess him up, but he’s really close on my tail. And worse, we’re close to the filling station with the other swimmer boy, the one I haven’t shot at yet.

     Finn grabs me, and with apparently superhuman strength, lifts me off my feet and throws me over his shoulder. I keep my grip on my gun and keep shooting and shrieking, but Finn only laughs and carts me toward the tub of water, nudging his swim-team buddy aside.

     “Finn!” I shout, pounding on his back. “What are you doing? Put me down!”

     He’s careful not to drop me from too high up, but I still fall in in an unceremonious heap on the waterlogged ground. I scramble to my feet and start to shoot at him, but I’m out of water. I’m out of water and two “enemies” are standing right there, waiting for me to fill up right in front of them. They’re crazy if they think that will happen. No, I have a different plan.

     I back up and flick open the valve on my gun as if I’m going to fill it, but the second they grin their satisfactory grins, thinking they’ve bested me, I bolt. I feel their streams of water at my back, but I keep running. Of course they’re gaining on me, though, because they are both immensely tall and have really long legs, good for running.

     Of course I’m screwed. I take a sharp turn and look behind me to see them shooting at each other in between shooting at me. I’m wondering how they haven’t run out of water yet—these things don’t hold that much—when Finn’s eyes go wide and he shouts my name.

     I turn forward and realize what he’s shouting about.

     Some of the paths are bordered by brick that gets higher and higher as you climb the little hill. It’s like a wall of sorts, segregating the grassy area from the pavement. They’re not immensely high, but even halfway through, running right off them is gonna hurt.

     That’s what I’m about to do, and by now, it’s too late to stop. So I fall.

     And yeah, it really hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song references: 
> 
> Title: You're Dead Wrong by Mayday Parade 
> 
> The Last Day on Earth by Kate Miller-Heidke 
> 
> When I'm With You by Faber Drive


	5. Chapter 5

Finn towers over me, the strands of gold and bronze in his hair practically shimmering in the glow of the solar lights that line the path. He then hops down from the wall, nimbly and easily, and towers over me a little less. I can hear the rest of the water war winding down as people start to realize something has gone amiss, and voices are hushed. I hear my name called from the dark, but I’m still cataloguing the damage and piecing together what happened.

     I closed my eyes upon impact. My hands must’ve flown out instinctively, catching me and preventing me from scraping up my face or hitting my head. My palms sting—a layer or two of skin has been scraped through, not enough that I’m bleeding, but enough to feel unpleasant. I flex my fingers and roll my wrists to make sure nothing is broken, and really all I feel is a dull soreness that is easily ignored. Upon landing, I rolled over so that I’m sitting awkwardly on the pavement with my legs stretched out in front of me, my knees raw and red with bubbles of blood welling up from the surface. Ouch.

     I also seem to have landed in a puddle from when they were carrying around the water tubs.

     “I did warn you,” says Finn.

     “Yeahh,” I say. “You were a little late, sorry.”

     “Eh. I’m glad to be of service anyway. Here,” he says, offering his hand to help me up. As he hauls me to my feet, Peeta stumbles into view, looking alarmed. Annie follows closely behind, running up to get a closer look at my wounds and worry over me like a mother hen. Finn very gently pulls her back, saying, “Relax, Annie. She’s fine. Aren’t you, Katniss?”

     “Yes. Fine,” I assure her, reaching out to lightly pat her shoulder. “Just a little scraped and bruised is all. I’ll just run in and clean myself up, and you guys can continue.” I look around for my plastic gun, seeing that it skidded across the walkway a few feet away. Before I can go forth to retrieve it, Peeta walks up to it in a couple of strides and comes back, handing it over. I give it to Annie. “Here. You can be a badass with a pistol in each hand.”

     Annie smiles and nods, tucking both of her guns under her left arm and using her right to hug me. I hug back, but I don’t put very much effort into it. I turn to Peeta, who still looks stricken as he stares at my knees. His eyes are big blue worry crystals as they follow the trails of blood rolling down my legs. I raise an eyebrow at him—surely he knows that this is nothing. I used to show up at school sporting all kinds of injuries, from scraped up knees I acquired on a bike ride to facial lacerations from wayward tree branches.

     Maybe blood makes him squeamish. I duck a little to meet his eyes, trying to give him a reassuring look.

     “Peeta. I’m okay,” I say. “Are _you_ okay?”

      “What? Yes.” He presses his lips together and steps back a tiny bit. I nod and give him a half smile before I start to hobble off, heading down the path towards our building. I’m nearly halfway there when I hear footsteps pounding behind me, somebody running to catch up. “Katniss!” Peeta calls after me, and I pause, wondering a couple of different things. The first being why, the second being that if he wanted to follow me, why did it take him so long to do it? I’m not really moving very fast.

     “What?” I ask as he skids to a stop beside me.

     “I…um…do you need help? I’m happy to help,” he says. “I have Band-Aids.”

     I’m about to decline his offer when I realize something. I don’t have Band-Aids. Or a private sink to use in cleaning myself up—I’ll have to do it in the shared bathroom down the hall. I can picture it now, me standing at the sink dabbing at my injuries with dampened paper towel and soaked clothes, and some girl wandering in to find me that way.

     I purse my lips and ask, “Can I use your sink?”

     “What? Yeah. Of course,” says Peeta, running his hand through his hair. It seems that he does that a lot. “Come on. Um. Do you want to take the elevator?”

     “Hell yes,” I reply, because walking hurts enough as it is. I don’t want to think about how it’ll feel climbing up the stairs.

     Peeta smiles and tucks his hands in his jeans pockets as we walk. When I first saw him tonight, he’d already had wet spots on his clothes from carting all that water around, and his ashy blond curls had darkened at the ends. Now, he was considerably damper, his hair dripping and his shoulders drenched. I look at him curiously and he notices.

     “Johanna shoved my head in the water,” he says, tilting his head to one side and tapping lightly, as if he expects all the water to drain out of his ear that way. “Hmm. Funny, I expected a goldfish to come tumbling out.”

     I laugh despite myself.

     “This isn’t a cartoon, Mellark,” I say. “If it were, I’d be right back to shooting at people with water and all injuries would be remedied in the next scene.”

     Peeta laughs. When we get to the door, he swings it open for me, and I thank him. Then he does the pushing of the elevator buttons and since it’s a little late and no one is really going anywhere at this time of night, we don’t have to wait long. He lets me walk into the little space first before ducking in behind me and pressing the button for the second floor. The elevator is smallish, with mirrors on all walls and a wooden bar at waist height. It reminds me of a shrunken down ballet studio that moves up and down through a dark and narrow shaft.

     I don’t look at my reflection. It’s probably ghastly.

     Instead I look at Peeta, who shifts around for the whole minute or so that it takes to pass up the first floor and settle on the second. I don’t know if he’s realized that I’m staring at him, but I stop as soon as I leave the elevator. We amble quietly down the hallway, Peeta having slowed his pace a lot. I look back on the night of the party at Capitol Suites, when I walked a clumsy, tipsy Peeta to his dorm. I think he walked faster that evening than he is now, which makes me self-conscious, seeing as the only reason he’s slowing down is because _I’m_ moving at turtle’s pace. I try to speed up and ignore the protests of my scraped knees.

     Then we’re at the door labeled SUITE 218 and Peeta pulls his key from his pocket. He slips it into the lock and turns while pushing down on the handle—because instead of doorknobs, in this building we have those stupid silver handles that are nowhere near as nice-looking. They make it look like thirty bathrooms are just lined up along the hall or something. I suppose a nicer comparison would be hotel rooms or whatever, but that’s not what I think of when I look at them.

     The room is dark when we shuffle inside, but light from the hallway pools on the carpet. It’s the same scratchy gray carpeting with flecks of confetti colors that Annie and I have in our dorm room. Peeta shuts the door behind us and it gets even darker, though I can make out glowing clock numbers and a sliver of moonlight peeking out from between heavy-looking curtains. But the dimness is short-lived, because he fumbles along the wall and quickly finds the light switch.

     Annie was right. This room is bigger.

     On my floor, the rooms are all the same, with all the same furniture. There isn’t too much room to move it around or anything, so Annie and I have left it how we found it for the most part. It’s clear that Peeta and Finnick haven’t. The beds are pushed up against opposite walls, still, but they’re also in opposite corners. The desks are next to each other on one side of the room and the dressers occupy the space next to the door, right beside the light switch. The closet and bathroom are together as well. In addition, each boy seems to have some extra room for extra crap. There’s a surfboard leaning against the wall between the desks and a big and squishy-looking orange chair at the end of one bed.

     “Sorry, it’s messy,” says Peeta, walking forward into the room. He gathers up a bunch of the clothes that are strewn across the floor and dumps them into a plastic hamper with two sides, probably specially designed for dorm rooms. “The only person who regularly comes through here is Annie, and she doesn’t care. Plus it’s impossible to keep the room clean all the time for somebody who’s not so much a guest as another unofficial roommate.”

     I look around, trying to figure out which things belong to Peeta and which to Finn. The surfboard is obvious, but the rest takes a little deduction. The bed by the window has a brown comforter and a few mismatched pillows, and there’s a sketchbook lying open across the rumpled dinosaur sheets. The other one, the one by the door without the chair, is actually made. It has a quilt with fish on it and plain green pillowcases. I know that its Finn’s because Annie’s left her music theory textbook right there on the quilt. The desk with the brain diagrams and psych books is also Finn’s.

     Peeta’s belongings are a lot more disorderly than I thought they’d be, with clothes hanging out of his dresser (I can tell it’s his because of the high school jersey hanging out of it, and the Carolina Panthers pennant he’s taped to one of the drawers)  and his desk is covered in scattered art supplies and such. A blank painting canvas is leaned up against the wall beneath the window and there’s an opened bag of chips on his chair. It’s weird seeing this. It’s a side of Peeta I didn’t really think about before—though right now, I’m thinking about it a lot. That’s the bed where he sleeps and he eats potato chips in his chair and does artsy things at his desk instead of homework. He doesn’t make his bed or put his clothes away properly and he doesn’t have any pictures of his family hung up or framed around the room. Finn does, he had plenty of photos of himself and Annie, himself and his parents, but the only thing Peeta has put up on the wall is a large poster covered in different sized words of different fonts with ART emblazoned in the middle.

     “That’s okay,” I say, nudging aside a wadded up shirt with my foot. “It’s nice.”

     “Thanks,” he says, his cheeks going slightly pink. “Um, do you want to change out of those, um, wet clothes?” he asks, gesturing at me awkwardly before bringing the same hand up to the back of his neck. He smiles at me almost shyly.

     “Sure. Yeah.”

     Peeta nods and maneuvers around me to get to the dresser, where he pulls out a wrinkled t-shirt with some sort of writing on it and lightly tosses it at me. I catch it, thank him, and duck into the bathroom. I discover that my undergarments are mostly dry and don’t need to be bothered with, but much of my shirt and the whole butt region of my shorts are soaked through. I slip on the shirt that Peeta gave me, looking in the mirror to read the backwards lettering. _While we cannot direct the winds, we can adjust the sails_ , it says, and there’s a little sailboat floating along under the words. The shirt itself is blue, a nice blue that would probably bring out Peeta’s eyes. I wonder why I’ve never seen him wearing this.

     Only when I step out of the little bathroom do I realize that I’m missing a very important thing. Pants.

     Peeta looks up and his blush grows fiercer. He realizes it too. Oh God.

    “I’m sorry, do you want a pair of sweats or something? Maybe they’d be too big. I could run up to your room for you and grab something. If you want me to. I mean. I didn’t even think—”

     “Peeta,” I say, and he shuts his mouth. His eyes are still like saucers. “It’s okay. Now help me clean off all this blood, okay?”

      He nods and follows me into the bathroom, where I put down the lid of the toilet seat and sit on it, and Peeta leans over me to wipe away some of the blood and grime that dirties my legs. The shirt is long enough that it covers my underwear for the most part, but Peeta doesn’t seem to notice any of that anymore. Not once he’s busy tending to my scraped up kneecaps.

     “So, will I live?” I ask him. He smiles and looks up from what he’s doing.

     “It’s hard to say,” he says. “You might be the first casualty of the courtyard water war. You’ll go down in history.”

     “Oh, that’s comforting,” I say. Peeta laughs.

     Once it’s all clean, he pulls out some Neosporin or whatever and very gently applies it with a paper towel. I make soft hissing sounds because it stings a little bit, and Peeta, being the overly nice person he is, apologizes profusely. When that’s done, he reaches into his plastic container full of First-Aid supplies and withdraws a few boxes of Band-Aids. He determines what size I need to cover my scrapes and puts the rest away, but he stares at the box that’s left with his brows drawn together.

     “These are boring,” he says. “Why don’t they make the bigger kind of Band-Aids with like, I don’t know, Spiderman on them or something?”

     I shrug and Peeta gets up. He walks out of the bathroom without another word, returning moments later with a clipboard tucked under his arm and a handful of colored sharpies. When he sits back down in front of me, he lets the markers fall to the tiled floor. Some of them roll, and a few catch in the lines between the tile. Peeta stretches to collect them all and makes sure they don’t try to escape him this time before setting the clipboard on his lap and pulling out a couple of Band-Aids.

     “What are you doing?” I ask, watching him curiously. He looks up at me, smiling, and then goes back to peeling the little packages open. But he leaves the adhesive backing on and puts the plain Band-Aids down on the clipboard in front of him.

     “Waiting for the Neosporin to dry a little,” he says. “Also, decorating.”

     “Decorating my Band-Aids? Why?” I ask. I know he thinks they’re unnecessarily bland, but why does he bother to fix that?  Is he just bored, or in need of some sort of creative expression? What does Peeta gain from adding a bit of color to my bandages? Not that I’m ungrateful—I don’t mind at all, and I’m interested in seeing what he comes up with.

     “Because,” is all he says by way of explanation, so I just shut up and watch him. Peeta bends his head over his work, blocking me out and concentrating on what he’s doing. But he doesn’t obscure my vision; I can see every line he makes. He starts with a pinkish purple, touching it to the surface of his miniature canvas and carefully etching out a cluster of perfectly-drawn petals. He does it with a few other colors before adding some curling green vines. His hand never shakes and he never falters—Peeta is an artist.

     “Are those…?”

     “Primroses? Yeah,” he says without looking up. He’s still adding a few finishing touches. “First thing I thought of. I mean, because your sister.”

     “Yeah,” I say. Peeta holds up the finished product for me to look at, and I take it in my hands. “Wow. Peeta, it’s…well, it’s certainly not boring anymore.”

     “That was my intention,” he replies.

     I nod, almost speechless. Peeta grins, satisfied with my reaction, and returns his attention to the clipboard. He still has one more Band-Aid to do, after all. This time I can’t really see what he’s drawing, but he hunches his shoulders over it, his face hidden by the hair that falls out of place. He reaches up a few times to shove it back, but ultimately his efforts are futile—Peeta’s curls are floppy as hell and they don’t seem to like being tamed. When he finally looks up again, I’ve applied the primrose Band-Aid and am patiently waiting for the next.

     He smiles and holds it up for me to see. Where the first is pretty and flowery, this one is just sweet and adorable. Peeta has drawn a little elephant sitting down, her trunk extended as she gazes up at a bird that’s flying about above her. The bird, of course, doesn’t have much detail, but it looks a bit like a blue jay or something.

     “It’s how I imagine the mockingjay would look,” he says because I’m staring. He gestures to the little golden bird that dangles around my neck. “And the elephant is just because. I don’t even know.”

     “ _Peeta_ ,” I say. “How did you learn to draw like this? On a _Band-Aid?_ ”

     “Lots of practice. I’d lock myself in my room or hide in a field somewhere and draw the same things over and over until I got them right, sometimes until I could draw it by memory,” says Peeta. He takes the backing off of the bandage in his hand and crumples up the pieces, tossing them in the trash can that’s wedged between the toilet and the sink. “I still do it. Except I don’t have to hide.”

     He says it lightly, like it’s nothing. He sticks the Band-Aid to my knee and smooths it out carefully, hoping not to irritate the wound too much. I remember Peeta’s art projects hanging in the hallways, the pride and joy of every art teacher he had. I remember he’d show up at school with a black eye and brush it off, saying something about roughhousing with his brothers. I remember that everyone would hear shouting coming from the back of the bakery, and a little boy crying, a little boy who soon grew up into a scrawny pubescent teenager, and then hit a growth spurt and got into sports. That was when it finally stopped, and the injuries he blamed on football were really only from football.

     It pains me that nobody thought to do anything about it, just because it was his mother who hit him and not his father.

     “Katniss,” he says, very softly. I feel the pads of his fingertips brush against my cheek and look up at him, my eyes wide. Looking at Peeta now, it’s easy to forget how much his childhood sucked. Even back when he wore the evidence every day, he still found a reason to smile. I don’t see a broken soul when I look at him, some poor kid who got beat up by his mom—I see the boy who risked being punished just to give me food, and I see the boy who laughs at all my stupid jokes and the boy who likes to draw and paint and still has dinosaur sheets, probably because he still likes dinosaurs. I know that his mother’s foul treatment of him is a part of who he is, but I can also tell that he never let it _define_ him.

     I wonder who he sees when he looks at me.

     “Thanks, Peeta,” I say to him, gesturing to the colored bandages on my knees. “For helping me out too. You’re a really good friend.”

     I think is see something flicker in his eyes, but a second later he’s just grinning wider and helping me to my feet.

     “Any time, Katniss. Really,” he says, blushing slightly. The humility in him continues to impress me. I stand there under his gaze, chewing on my lip and staring at my wet clothes, which are draped over the bar on the sliding shower door. I also look at Peeta’s still damp clothing, wondering if he plans on sitting around like that or if he’s going to change at some point. “I’ll run down and put these in the dryer,” says Peeta, pointing at my clothes. I tug at the shirt he’s loaned me. “I have to get out of these things too.”

     “Okay,” I say, because I’m not about to venture into the hallway wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt with a sailboat on it. “You can do that. I’ll just um. Wait in here.”

     “Oh sure,” he says. “Make yourself comfortable. I’m just gonna, um,” he pauses, and I realize I’m blocking the way out of the bathroom. I move aside and he goes out into the main part of his dorm. I stay where I am. Out of the corner of my eye I can see him digging through his drawers again, and then reaching to pull his shirt up and over his head. His jeans go next, and I avert my eyes. My face gets hot and I can hear the rustling sounds as Peeta redresses himself and I wonder why I didn’t just shut the bathroom door when he left.

     Then he’s back to retrieve my clothes from where I put them to dry. I pick up my wadded up socks and hand them over along with my shirt and shorts, avoiding his eyes. He put his shirt on hurriedly and his hair is mussed, though it’s a good look on him. The white fabric settles right above the waistband of his jeans, which don’t ride particularly low on his hips, but they’re not very high either. I know I’m certainly not the first friend of Peeta’s—female or otherwise—to appreciate just how gorgeous he actually is. I become especially aware of the fact that I’m not wearing anything on my legs but a pair of doodled-on Band-Aids.

     While Peeta is in the laundry room, I gather up his markers and things and store them all back where they came from—his First-Aid kit in the top dresser drawer, the sharpies in an Applebee’s cup on his desk, and the clipboard balanced atop a stack of notebooks and sketchpads. He returns to find me sitting in his orange chair with my feet curled under me, flipping through a book about Picasso that I found lying on the floor. He smiles at me and sits on the floor nearby.

     “So,” he says conversationally. “Are you familiar with the rules of Connect Four?”

 *****

I’m surprised how long just a few games of Connect Four take. I mean, they are riddled with laughing and joking around and being distracted from the goal in general. At one point, Peeta seems to enjoy making the stupidest moves he can and saying, “I’m gonna win,” in a devious fashion. I win more times than he does, though, since there’s some strategy involved and Peeta hardly even thinks about anything but what he can do to make me want to pelt him with my red checkers.

     When he brings the dried laundry back up, I change back into my clothes. I look at the clock, and since it’s getting late, I make the decision to leave now rather than later. I help clean up the game board before I go, and Peeta takes me off guard and delivers a parting hug. I hug back, thank him again, and walk out the door.

     I look back only once, and when I do, I see that Peeta is standing in the doorway of his dorm room. He waves one last time, blushing because he was embarrassed to be caught watching me leave, and then he ducks back inside.

     I use the elevator to get to my floor, and in the mirrors that surround me, my reflection is smiling.


	6. Chapter 6

You can learn a lot about a person if you spend a lot of time with them. When I first came to UNC Panem, I didn’t know anything about anybody. I knew nothing of Annie except her name, which I’d forgotten quickly. I didn’t know Finn, and if you came up to me and described him, assuring me that one day he and I would be close friends, I’d laugh in your face. When I first saw Peeta on campus, at the activities fair, I thought I knew him. But in reality, over the past month, I’ve come to the realization that I really didn’t know him at all.

     Not then, anyway. I like to think that I know him now.

     He drives a 1997 Skylark that he bought off some guy a few towns over, in pretty good condition, though there’s a few scratches on the door and it’s a weird maroon color. His parents got divorced during his junior year of high school, and his mother ran off to live with some boyfriend in Tennessee. According to Finn, she probably likes it a lot better there because the boyfriend is like a puppet on a string to her. Peeta’s brothers are named Walden and Cap, though I’d always thought their names had something to do with bread for some reason, and Cap is studying to be a historian while Walden likes to build stuff. His favorite color is sunset orange, a shade or two lighter than the chair he has in his room. He double knots his shoelaces and always sleeps with the window open. Once I was drinking hot tea in the library and he came up behind me, took a sip, and almost spit it out on account of how much sugar I’d added, because he never takes sugar in his tea.

     I’ve learned a lot about Finn and Annie too, since we all spend time together as a group a lot. We’ve gone to movies—Peeta and I sometimes break away from them, so as not to be witness to kissing scenes that aren’t part of the film. We’ve gone out to dinner and to parties, and we congregate at meal times and between classes. I even brought Annie home one weekend for pizza and reruns of old TV with Prim. They’re all my best friends, there’s no question there, but I’m most impressed by the knowledge I’ve acquired on the subject of Peeta Mellark.

      I haul my bag down the second floor hallway, expertly dodging passersby and paying close attention to the numbers on the doors. I’ve been back to Peeta and Finn’s dorm since the water fight, but only a few times. When Peeta asked if I could come down, I threw most of my research for my paper into this tote and tucked in a few books—which are what makes it so heavy—and hurried off towards the stairs.

     He’s been helping me with a paper I have to write for a social sciences class, particularly on anthropology. He did the same assignment last year, in his first semester at UNC Panem, so he was happy to volunteer his services. Which was a good thing, because I had no idea where to start. Now, with Peeta’s help, I’ve drawn up an outline and I’m almost ready to start writing my first draft. It’s not due particularly soon, but I never was one to procrastinate.

     I locate suite 218 and adjust my bag so I don’t topple over when I knock on the door. Moments later, it cracks open and a pair of sea-green eyes scrutinizes me through the gap.

     “Oooh. What do we have here?” asks Finn as he opens the door further and leans against the frame. “It’s a Katniss. I wasn’t expecting a Katniss.”

     “It’s not you I’m here for,” I reply. “Where’s Peeta?”

     “He’s not in.” Finn smirks infuriatingly and adjusts the ties on his terry-cloth bathrobe. Yes, he’s wearing a bathrobe, and I really don’t want to find out what he has on underneath.

     “Liar,” I say, focusing on a spot above his head. “He’s in there. I can hear him trying not to laugh.”

     At that, Peeta laughs, and his cover is blown. Finn shakes his head in mock disappointment and lets me inside. He shuts the door behind me and flops down on his bed, flipping open a textbook. I never thought I’d see Finnick Odair study for anything, but alas, I was mistaken. Peeta is slouching in his chair with a sandwich in his hand, chewing and smiling as wide as he can without opening his mouth. I walk over and kick the side of the chair before dropping my bag on the floor next to it. Peeta swallows.

     “Hiii,” he says cheerily. There’s a bit of lettuce stuck in his teeth and I point it out to him. “Oh, well, I’m sure that wins me all the attractiveness awards,” he mumbles as he picks it out. I chuckle lightly and lay stomach-down on the bed, supporting myself on my elbows. My head is at the very end of the bed, right beside Peeta’s. My hair, which I neglected to braid this morning, falls down in an irritating curtain of black.

     Almost involuntarily, Peeta’s hand comes up to sweep it back so that it’s tucked behind my ear. e

Ooo Once my face is in his line of vision again, he grins.

     “So, what did you bring?” he asks, reaching past me to grab the bag. He holds what’s left of his sandwich in his mouth as he rifles through my papers and books, simply taking an inventory of what I have before saying anything else. Then, between bites of sandwich, he starts to read aloud my outline. Again. Some of it is in his handwriting, neatly formed letters that overflow the lines, but most of it has been written in my smallish, scrawly print that people sometimes can’t even read. But Peeta can, very well actually, which is weird considering that sometimes I can’t even decipher it.

     After he’s finished he asks, “Are you ready to start writing?”

     I nod and he hands back the paper. A strand of my hair falls forward again, and I fix it before Peeta can, staring down at my messy scribblings about this and that. Finn catches my eye and wiggles his eyebrows in a deliberate attempt to annoy me. I glare at him.

     “Peeta,” I say. He turns his head at an odd angle in order to look at me. “Tell your roommate to put some pants on or something. I know you might be used to his lack of clothing, but I’m not.”

     Peeta laughs and reaches for the pillow that sits at the foot of the bed. He throws it at Finn with impeccable aim, hitting him squarely in the face before he can catch it. Finn retaliates, jumping up from his bed and hurling the pillow back towards us. I shriek and cover my head with my arms, but Peeta catches it midair. His roommate has already sprung to his feet and seized one of his own pillows, which he raises above his head as he shouts, “FOR NARNIA!”

     They begin to whack each other senselessly with the pillows, dodging and parrying blows. Peeta is nowhere near as lithe as Finn, but Finn doesn’t have the same reflexes. When the pillows are cast aside and they begin to wrestle like they’re ten years old again, Peeta obviously has the upper hand. He wasn’t only a football player in high school—he also dabbled in other sports, particularly wrestling. He has Finn pinned in no time, and I jump down from the bed to imitate all the referees I’ve seen, slapping the ground and counting. The boys laugh at me and at each other as Peeta hauls himself up, and then offers Finn his hand.

     “Okay. I win. Clothe yourself,” says Peeta.

     “Oh? Do you find this…distracting?” Finn rolls his neck to peer down at me, smirking. His robe slipped and shifted during the play fighting, and a lot of his body is suddenly exposed. I yelp as I realize, hiding my face in my hands and feeling the blood rush to my face. Peeta chuckles and shoves his friend aside.

     “I do,” says Peeta jokingly. “Who wouldn’t? I mean, look at those abs. Have you seen this man’s abs, Katniss? And he’s got some nice legs too.” He whistles.

     “Stop it,” I groan. Peeta laughs again, and I peer at him through my fingers. His crooked, taunting smirk softens as he looks at me, and he gathers up my things from the bed and chair. He drapes the bag over one shoulder and uses the other arm to guide me past Finn and out of the dorm room.

     “We’re going to the library, Odair,” he says over his shoulder. “You’d better be dressed when I get back.” Once the door is shut, he mutters, “Asshole.”

     I stand in the hallway, blinking rapidly and sporadically. “I…we just saw Finnick Odair in his underwear,” I splutter. Peeta grins and adjusts my bag on his shoulder. “I don’t know if I should be repulsed or not.”

     “Think nothing of it. He has no modesty,” says Peeta. “Now come on. Library.”

     The library at UNC Panem is nestled on the third and fourth floors of dormitory seven. There used to be another library, but it was converted into an arts building for the more creative portion of the student body. That old library, along with the dining hall and the other places where classes are held, is set back from the residential part of the campus. Neither Peeta or myself has an idea what the interior of the old library looked like, since it was long before either of us came here that the old library became something other than the current library.

    As we walk towards dormitory seven, Peeta catches my arm and holds it up so he can see.

     “Have you been letting Annie write on you again?” he asks impishly. I laugh and squirm away.

     “Nah. She did it while I was asleep,” I joke. Of course Annie didn’t really write on my arm without my consent—she’d never disrespect boundaries like that. Every time I’ve let Annie scribble lyrics onto my flesh, I’ve preapproved every word. “What’s it say this time?” 

     “ _Lights will guide you home_ ,” he reads, and then hums a few bars of the song. “Coldplay. Didn’t know Annie listened to them.”

     “Annie listens to everything.”

     Peeta nods, acknowledging that I do have a point there. We continue to trek up through the courtyard, greeting people we know as we pass them and being gracious of the people we don’t, so as not to bump into anybody. Dormitory seven is less run down than dormitory twelve, but it’s not as classy as one or two—they all have the same exterior, with weathered red and brown brick and the same style of entrance: a pair of glass doors labeled PULL.

     We duck inside and head up the stairs to the third floor, then walk through an extra set of doors to finally get into the library. The woman at the front desk is as wrinkled and frayed as any other old lady you might see, but her face is creased with laugh lines and her eyes are just as bright as Prim’s or Peeta’s. Her nametag, clipped to her big knitted cardigan, says she’s called Mags. There’s no last name or anything, just Mags. She waves at Peeta and me as we pass her, and venture into the depths of the library. We have a favorite spot, nestled not in a corner but rather a clearing between the shelves. There’s a table and chairs, as well as a comfy leather sofa that Annie and I fell asleep on once, draped across each other and tangled up like vines. Last year, when he and Peeta were freshmen, Finn came up with the bright idea to carve their names into the underside of the table—and of course, the bit of vandalism is still there if you’re in the mood to crawl under and look.

     I sit down and look at Peeta expectantly. He smiles at me, settles into the chair across from me, and swings my tote bag up onto the table. Some of my books and papers leak out onto the table, but that’s okay, because soon enough everything will be strewn across it anyway. I reach into the bag for my packet of filler paper, pull out a fresh sheet as well as my chicken-scratched outline, and dig out the cheap black pen I’ve been using.

     We work for hours. Since it’s Saturday, there are no classes to interrupt us and not very many students passing through. The library is open all day every day, so even if we stay well past nightfall, we won’t be kicked out. Dusk comes earlier and earlier every evening now that it’s October. The whole time we spend at the table is devoted to my paper, more or less. Peeta cracks jokes to keep me from freaking out over all the information, and he helps coax me through parts I get stuck at. If I spell a word wrong, he’ll gently bring it to my attention and have me mark it for definite change when I write the next draft. By the time the sun sets, I’m working on my closing paragraph.

     I’m so glad for his help. Annie could’ve made an effort, but she hasn’t taken the class, so she doesn’t really know any more than I do. I considered asking Finn, but he’s always taking Annie somewhere to sail toy boats or gaze up at the stars or whatever young couples do these days when they’re broke college kids. I mean, they probably do _other things_ in the backseat of his Optima, but I don’t even want to think about that. So I approached Peeta with the assignment, and he was more than happy to be of assistance. He helped me get materials and worked out times we could work on it together, and also helped me figure out times to work on it by myself. It is arguably the biggest assignment I’ve had so far, considering I’ve only been at UNC Panem for a little over a month, and I couldn’t even have gotten this far without his help. I wonder how I’m going to survive four more years of this without having to lean on everyone else when things get difficult.

     But I know I’ll manage. Surviving is what I’ve always done, even if it never included studying before.

     And then I hear it.

     “Well,” says a ridiculously sultry voice. “If it isn’t Peeta Mellark. I didn’t know you did tutoring.”

     Glimmer, the girl from the party at Capitol Suites, strides in with her shoulders back as if she’s trying to exaggerate her bust. Her golden hair falls in waves down her back and she wears this ridiculously low cut green dress that swooshes when she walks. I’m instantly repelled by her, not because she’s pretty, but because I know what lurks behind the lovely southern belle façade. She’s a snake—not the nice kind that live in your garden or that you keep for pets. I mean like a boa constrictor, squeezing you with its stunning strength until you can’t breathe. Cold-blooded and animalistic. Maybe I’m exaggerating, but I can imagine her blinking to reveal reptilian pupils or scales beginning to sprout up along her arms.

     “Oh, I’m not tutoring,” says Peeta, correcting her politely. My fists clench beneath the table. “Katniss is a good friend of mine, so I’m helping her with her anthropology paper thing.”

     “How sweet of you,” she coos, leaning on the table with both hands and grinning at Peeta crookedly. She’s purposely displaying her cleavage, and I’m tempted be snarky and ask if they’re even real. “Helping out your freshman friends.”

     Ugh. She says _freshman_ like you might say _first grade_. I’m a year younger than her, a bit smaller than her, and she is purposely writing me off as nothing more than a child. Glimmer is ignoring me now, fluttering her eyelashes at Peeta and touching his arm lightly. It’s one thing when she’s looking at me like a threat, like back at the party, and it’s another thing entirely when she pretends I don’t exist.

     I clear my throat loudly.

     “Well, um,” says Peeta. “Friends help each other. It’s hardly a big deal.”

     “You’re right. Katie here can probably get through the rest without you,” says Glimmer, flicking a glance at me. “She looks like she has a good head on her shoulders.”

     If this bitch kept it up, she wasn’t going to have a head on her shoulders at all.

     “No,” says Peeta firmly. “Katniss asked for my help. I’m not gonna bail just because she seems to have a handle on it. I won’t go anywhere until she asks me to. So Glimmer, whatever you were going to ask me to do with you, whether it be a walk in the courtyard or some party next weekend, the answer is no. It will always be no.”

     Glimmer is absolutely taken aback. “What?”

     “Please. You’ve been hanging on me since last year,” says Peeta, looking down at the papers rather than at her. “And I’ve said no nicely plenty of times. You’re just not my type.”

     It all registers in her head and she grimaces, scowling at me. Her gaze is almost murderous, but so is mine. Peeta’s ears are pink after what he’s just said, and also because he can feel the tension between Glimmer and I building itself up. I have a feeling that she’s going to threaten me discreetly or shoot a snide remark; I fear she’ll lean in and whisper something awful about me just to push my buttons. And I will probably break her precious little nose with my fist.

     “Katniss,” says Peeta, looking up. His eyes plead with me _. Don’t start something, don’t get yourself in trouble. She isn’t worth it._ And he’s right, Glimmer isn’t worth it. She’s not worth the attention she gets from everyone around her, and she’s certainly not worth the good treatment she gets from people like Peeta, who are too polite to tell her she’s a raging bitch. I sigh, gazing back at him apologetically. He smiles slightly and starts to gather up the papers across the table. “Well, Glimmer, since it’s getting late, Katniss and I ought to be going. It was nice seeing you.”

     She sneers, not even attempting to look cheerful for him.

     I lean over the table to help Peeta tuck all my research away. “Pretty bird’s feathers are looking a bit ruffled,” I say under my breath, and it makes him snort with laughter. I smile again, and soon enough, we’re all cleaned up and ready. Peeta insists on carrying my bag again, and we wave goodbye to Glimmer with mischievous little smirks on our faces. Mags wishes us a good night on our way out, and I wish her the same before Peeta and I head back down the stairs.

     I laugh. “But did you see her face?”

     “Yeah, I guess it was pretty funny. I’m glad you decided not to commit homicide right there in the library,” he says. “I mean, if there was a crime scene right in the middle of it, where would people study? Not to mention the blood that would get on the books.”

     “Well that’s vivid,” I say, bumping his arm with my shoulder as we walk downstairs. He smiles again, small and shy this time. A comfortable silence settles over us as we reach the bottom of the stairwell and go back outside. I smile fondly at the memory of running around this same courtyard with a water pistol in my hand, looking for a filling station and instead finding a miniature cliff to run off of by mistake. Despite my injuries that night, I’d had a lot more fun than I thought I would.

     “I wouldn’t ever go for somebody like her, you know,” Peeta says out of the blue. We wander along the pathways and he continues to talk, and I listen because there’s not much else I can do. “She’s shallow, superficial. And like, _mean_. I couldn’t be with somebody who’s mean.”

     “She’s a lot more than _mean_ , Peeta,” I begin, but he cuts me off.

     “I know. Believe me, I know,” he says. “But I tolerate her. I tolerate a lot of people because I’m just that guy. The polite one who, even if he hates your guts, he isn’t gonna tell you because that would be rude.”

     “You’re not _that_ polite,” I say with a laugh. “I mean let’s remember who threatened to put a wad of gum in my hair last week.”

     Peeta laughs with me and gives me a gentle shove.

     “I wasn’t serious,” he says. I nod, because I know. My hair slips forward again, and again it’s Peeta who notices and brushes it away. I don’t think that he’s really thinking about it, the way his hand grazes the side of my face as he does it, the way it’s almost futile because of the autumn breeze that blows through every few minutes. He just reaches up and tucks it back like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “I like it like this,” says Peeta, patting my hair lightly before pulling his hand back. He buries it in his pocket. “Long, I mean. The braid’s nice too, but…yeah…”

     “Oh, thanks,” I say. “I just didn’t get around to braiding it.”

     Peeta nods and slows near one of the benches that line the path. He sighs and sits down, leaning back so his body fits into the contours of the bench. I stop walking and join him, smiling. We sit there for a while before either of us speaks again.

     “I knew you weren’t interested in Glimmer, by the way,” I tell him. “Because of that other girl. The one you’ve liked forever.”

     Peeta stiffens for a second before relaxing again. “Yeah?”

     “Yeah. How is that going, by the way?” I ask curiously. “Did you ever tell her?”

     “No,” says Peeta without looking at me. Instead he stares down at his hands, weaving his fingers together in his lap. “I’m still trying to figure out how. We’re friends now, closer than we’ve ever been, but…I don’t know…”

     “You don’t know if she feels anything like you do.”

     “Exactly.” He nods. “I don’t know when, either. Like when is the right time to drop that kind of bomb on somebody? Ugh.”

     Peeta shifts in his seat and still doesn’t raise his eyes to look at me. I touch his shoulder, trying to be reassuring. I probably shouldn’t even have brought this up. He shrugs me off and hauls himself to his feet, leaving the bag on the bench as he begins to pace back and forth in front of me. His boots fall heavily on the pavement and his shoulders roll, as if he’s not sure if he should stand up straight and look confident or slouch and be miserable. Peeta’s hands work through his hair repeatedly and he keeps rubbing the back of his neck, but even though he usually does these things, it’s different now. Every movement is full of distress and indecision. For once, Peeta isn’t steady and sure about everything—it’s like he’s playing chess and staring at the pieces without knowing which move to make and what outcome it’ll bring.

     I stand up and step into his path.

     “Peeta,” I say. He looks startled as he freezes in the middle of the path. His eyes are wide and blue in the bright solar night lights. “Peeta, if you’re so in love with her,” my voice is unsteady for some reason, but I keep speaking, because I need to say this. “Tell her. Tell her, show her, whatever you need to do. Because you deserve to be happy, and not constantly plagued by does-she-love-me-does-she-not demons.”

     “Does-she-love-me-does-she-not demons?” Peeta cracks a smile. I have to smile back, I have no choice.

     “Don’t get so worked up next time, okay?” I say. “You were freaking me out.”

     “I’m fine. I’ve been fine this whole time,” says Peeta as his grin widens. I take it he knows what he’s going to do to remedy this whole unrequited love situation. “I’m more than fine, Katniss.”

     “Good.”

     He steps forward, ensconcing me in a bear hug. I laugh and hug him back as tightly as I can. Then he pulls back and smiles down at me, and I feel warmth just blooming in my soul, like it tends to do when he looks at me like that. I think he just has that kind of face, that kind of smile.

     “Katniss…” he says, and he’s almost close enough for his breath to stir the hair that’s fallen in my face again. I grunt in frustration and shove it back with one hand, but Peeta still lifts his as if he’s going to take care of it. But he just rests his fingers on my cheek and blinks slowly, watching me. It’s confusing, to say the least. I study him with wide eyes, unsure what to say, do, or think. Peeta has me stumbling over my thoughts.

     I’ve hardly processed the fact that he’s touching my face when he leans in. His lips brush softly across mine, his hand moving back into my hair. _What?_ It seems that Peeta Mellark has just kissed me, and it’s hard to believe, very hard to believe. But when he shifts his feet and does it again, I kiss back. Why shouldn’t I kiss back?

     I let Peeta sift his hands through my hair and ease me closer to him, and I hang on with my hands linked behind his neck, because that’s all I can think to do. His mouth is soft and sweet, pressing against mine gently at first, and then not so gently. I’ve been kissed before, sloppy, fumbling kisses stolen at the park or behind the school, but not like this. Peeta kisses with measured grace, his hand flat against my back and the other one in my hair, his head tilted as our lips fit together. He’s closed his eyes and his breaths are out of rhythm, because he keeps kissing me. For a moment, I close my eyes too, and I lose myself in it. I forget.

     Then it all comes back to me. I remember Peeta’s lifelong crush and realize who he meant. I remember the way my parents fit together like this, loving and gentle and kind, and I remember the way my mother screamed when the hospital called that afternoon, explaining how my father had collapsed on the job and rushed to the emergency room, only to die on the way. If he’d complained of headaches, we’d have known. If he’d gone to the doctor, they could’ve fixed it. But instead he had insisted there was nothing wrong with him until it was too late.

     I remember that my mother’s love for him was ultimately her undoing.

     I pull back, wriggling out of Peeta’s arms and backing away from him. I’m overwhelmed with the urge to flee, so I do, turning and running down the paths of the courtyard, towards the only place I really feel at home. Peeta shouts after me, but I don’t look back as I tear across the lawn and towards the lines of vehicles in dormitory twelve’s parking lot. I don’t think he follows me, but then again, I never check. Instead I slide behind the wheel of my mother’s old VW and drive away from everything that’s new and confusing. I don’t realize I’m crying until I’m completely off campus, driving through the night with only one destination in mind.

     And the tears don’t stop streaming until I’m parked in the gravel driveway of Everdeen cottage and climbing out of the car. Prim is on the porch, smiling at me and waving because she saw me pull up, and I take comfort in the sight of her.

     She has grown up too fast, but not nearly as fast as I have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Reference: 
> 
> Fix You by Coldplay


	7. Chapter 7

Prim’s gentle fingers slide through my hair, her touch as soothing as her voice as she sings the lullabies our father taught us so long ago. The room that she and I have shared since she was born is dark, save for the string of Christmas tree lights that line the walls and cast the strangest shadows. When Prim was little she was deathly afraid of the dark, and instead of a night light, Dad dug these out of the attic and hung them up around the room. They still twinkle exactly the way they did when I was young.

     When I got here, the tears had paused, but I began to cry again as soon as I reached Prim. She guided me back to our room and together we laid down on her bed, pressed together like we’d always be when she had nightmares and insisted that I hold her until she fell asleep again. But this time it was me who was beside herself. I told her everything, beginning with Peeta’s drunkenness at that party a while back and ending with the panic I felt as soon as I realized he was in love with me.

     After Dad died, our mother shut down. She wouldn’t eat or sleep, and she spent too much time sitting on the porch as if she was waiting for him to come home, even though his truck still sat in the driveway. I was constantly afraid she’d just give up. I was constantly angry that she thought she could just check out like that. Because he was gone and she was so detached, it was me who had to step up and be the caretaker. She paid the bills and eventually went back to work, but it was me who did the grocery shopping and the laundry and the comforting when Prim started to cry. I didn’t have the chance to mourn because my mother took it away from me.

     I still don’t know if I’ve forgiven her for it.

     I watched her die inside and struggle to function without him, and it was all because she loved him so much. And that terrifies me. I once read somewhere that love and loss are events unavoidable, but I subconsciously decided that it wasn’t true. That if you didn’t love so much, you wouldn’t lose so much. There was always Prim to love, but I couldn’t be sure if anyone else was worth the trouble.

     Now I’ve calmed down. The tears have slowed and I find solace in Prim’s arms, in the sound of her voice. She sings about love and loss, about tragedy and rebirth, and I remember the days when Dad was still around to sing those sweet songs. I realize that it wasn’t just a way to put us to sleep—he was also teaching us that the world is woven of bad and good things and that you can’t dwell on everything that’s bad. I don’t know why I never saw that before.

     Prim’s voice is soft and cautious as she asks, “Katniss?”

     I turn my head to look at her. She is curled up against me, lying on her side, and I’m on my back, staring up at the ceiling. Her singing has wound down, but she still plays with my hair, which is splayed out against the pillow.

     “Yeah?”

     “What are you going to say to Peeta?” she asks. “When you see him? Because you and I both know that you can’t really avoid him.”

     “I...I don’t know yet. I don’t want to avoid him,” I answer honestly. Prim’s eyes are wide and blue and concerned. “And…I want him to know…that I didn’t run away because of him.”

     “Good,” she says, and she kisses my forehead. I watch her eyes flutter closed—it’s apparently late for her, and she’s apparently tired. Before long, she is fast asleep, her face close enough to mine that I can feel her steady exhalations collide with my skin. I reach to brush her hair away, so I can get a better look at my baby sister. I remember when she was born, her cheeks were just as rosy and her eyes just as blue.

     “I love you, Prim,” I say, but I know she can’t hear me. She’s too far gone and too heavy a sleeper. Even as I peel myself away from her and climb out of bed, Prim only stirs once or twice. I pull a light blanket up from the foot of her bed to cover her, and I kiss the top of her head like I always have. She doesn’t need to hear me say I love you. She already knows.

     I think I hear knocking coming from the front of the house, and I leave Prim’s bedside to investigate. Sure enough, once I’m in the living room I hear it again, louder this time. It’s the unmistakable sound of somebody knocking on the door, though not with particular urgency. I wonder who it might be as I make my way across the room, dodging Buttercup as he rockets from the couch to the hall, headed for Prim but also running straight through my path to the door. Stupid cat. When I reach the front door I peer through the domed window at the top, standing on my tiptoes so that my eyes are more level with the glass.

     A pair of blue eyes gazes steadily back, making me yelp and jump away from the door. Which, of course, is an overreaction. Why must I be so dramatic?

     I open the door and stare at Peeta. The porch light glows upon him brightly, catching the blondest parts of his hair and breathing new life into every curl. Beyond him, the night is alive with the sounds of crickets chirping away and owls asking the same repetitive question. They ask who? Who? The only answer I can give them is Peeta Mellark, for it is he who has appeared on my doorstep and he who kissed me earlier and he who seems to shine even in the dark of the night.

     “What are you doing here?” I snap. It comes out harsher than I thought it would, and I wince, turning my face away from him.

     “I wanted to make sure you were all right…” he says carefully.

     “I’m _fine_.” I can’t look at him, so I stare at the wall. “But seriously, Peeta, it’s the middle of the night. You don’t just show up at people’s doors in the middle of the night. It doesn’t matter that you kissed me—”

     His sharp intake of breath makes me stop and rethink what I’m saying.

     “What I mean to say is that it’s too late an hour to just show up like this. Unannounced. Without warning,” I say, turning towards him. “I don’t mean to say that kissing me meant nothing. It was something.”

     “Something?” he asks. I can hear the hopefulness in his voice.

     “Yeah,” I reply. “Yeah. Something. I just can’t figure out what.”

     Peeta’s shoulders fall a little and he frowns. I feel bad that I can’t tell him exactly what he wants to hear, but the truth of the matter is that I really don’t know how I feel about it. Honestly, yeah, the kiss itself was great. I’m just not sure if everything else is right. Do I feel that way about him? Do I want to?

     “There’s no rush,” he says, and I almost don’t hear him. “Figure it out. I have all the time in the world.”

     “Now?”

     “No,” says Peeta with a shake of his head. “No, not right now. I mean…sleep on it. Take a day. A week. You don’t need to know exactly what you feel this very second. I just wanted you to know how _I_ feel. I was going to tell you that night, after the party, but you left. I was going to tell you at the bakery, and I was going to tell you after the water fight in the courtyard. But I chickened out all those times, Katniss.” He reaches to run his hand through his hair. “But this time I saw the opportunity and I took it, but…I didn’t think about the consequences. I’m sorry.”

     I shake my head. He’s blaming himself for my cowardice, and it truly isn’t his fault.

     “Peeta…” I say, rubbing my eyes. They ache from crying and lack of sleep, but I can’t retire to bed until this is resolved. Peeta says I can take my time figuring it out, but I won’t be able to properly rest until I do. “Come in.” I open the door for him and step aside. “I can’t promise a long, heartfelt talk about our feelings, but, well, there’s some explaining I have to do.”

     Peeta trudges into the house and looks around, taking in the sight with potent curiosity. I direct him over to the couch, where he sits and rests his hands on his legs, his posture straight and proper. I look at him with my brows furrowed until he asks me why, and I tell him to chill out because it isn’t like I brought him in to murder him or something. He smiles at this and visibly relaxes, which makes both of us feel better. I start to ask him if he wants something to drink or a blanket or something, but he shakes his head and declines graciously.

     I finally sit down beside him and stare at my hands. I tell him that it wasn’t about him, not really. I explain to him that he wasn’t what I was running from. I talk about my parents, how they used to be, and I talk about what my mother was reduced to after the loss of my dad. I spill everything I’m thinking, and he takes it all in with an understanding look on his face, and I’m reminded that this isn’t just a random boy who likes me. It’s Peeta. He’s compassionate, caring, funny and handsome Peeta.

     It becomes easier to talk to him when I remember that he’s my friend, even though it seems ridiculous that I could’ve forgotten such a thing.

     When I finish, there’s silence. He doesn’t say anything, just stares off into space. I sigh.

     “I’m sorry I make this so complicated,” I say.

     “No,” he hurries to reply, turning to me and shaking his head with vigor. “No, it’s not complicated. Just…you don’t owe me anything. Don’t feel obligated to…date me or whatever just because I have feelings for you. I want you to feel it to, otherwise it isn’t real. So if you aren’t ready, that’s okay. Whatever’s best for you…” he takes a deep breath. “Whatever you feel is best for you is perfectly okay with me.”

     I don’t know what to do with this information. Peeta has made a valiant effort to take the pressure off of me, but it doesn’t work. It doesn’t work, because his feelings aren’t what I’m worried about. I mean, they are, of course I don’t want to hurt him…but as selfish as it may be, I’m more concerned about my own heart. It isn’t particularly fragile, I don’t think, but the last thing I want is to get hurt so badly that I fall apart. I can’t be like my mother.

     But as far as I know, Peeta doesn’t have a brain aneurysm that can rupture at any moment like a ticking time bomb. If I choose to be with Peeta, he won’t leave me the same way my father left my mother. And really, that’s what I’m afraid of, isn’t it?

     I groan and bury my face in my hands.

     Why is it that when I’m asked what I want, I can never figure it out? I have never known what to major in at college, and I have never known what I want to do with my life when I don’t need to take care of Prim anymore. Now that a different opportunity has presented itself—something more than friendship with Peeta—I don’t know what to do with it.

     “Should I go?” he asks quietly. “Like I said, take all the time you need.”

     “No,” I say, rubbing my face and turning to look at him. “No, don’t leave. I don’t know how I feel about…anything…but I know that I want you to stay.”

      “Okayy…” Peeta shifts and squirms on the sofa. “Stay right here, like this very spot? Or do you mean just here, as in your house?” I furrow my brow and he turns red. “Because…um…I really have to pee.”

     I stare at him for a second and he gives me this pained look, and before I know it…I’m laughing. Peeta looks confused but I just grin at him and tell him where the bathroom is, laughing as he jumps up and hobbles away, his cheeks flaming. It’s funny because he blushes so much, and because he always blushes so much—and I like that about him. I like his eyes and his hair and the way he makes me laugh. I like the way he walks and the way he smiles, and as infuriating as it is, the fact that he’s nice to everybody.

     I like Peeta, and I know that I could do a lot worse.

     When he returns, he has this strange look on his face, like he’s not sure whether he should be upset with me for laughing or happy that I finally have a smile on my face. Peeta reclaims his seat on the couch, right beside me, but he scrunches his eyebrows together because I’m actually a lot closer now than I was before.

     “Katniss…” he says, regarding me with caution. He looks as if he’s afraid I’ll flip out again, but I know that I won’t. “I have a question.”

     “Ask away.”

     “When I kissed you…was I at least a good kisser?” he inquires, and I raise an eyebrow at him. But then a lopsided grin spreads across his face and I know that he’s realized that the tension in the air is diffusing and that he might as well make light of the situation.

     “Yep,” I answer simply, sinking back into the couch and swinging my feet up onto the coffee table. Making myself comfortable. Then I turn to him, a decidedly mischievous smile touching my lips. “In fact,” I say. “You should do it again.”

     Peeta skips a beat. He blinks and stares at me as if he didn’t hear a word I said.

     “ _What?_ ” he splutters incredulously.

     “I said,” I say calmly. “You should kiss me again.”

     This time he doesn’t hesitate. He moves quickly, right next to me so that his leg is pressed against mine, but he twists his torso so that he’s facing me. His right hand comes up to cradle the left side of my face, and the other one slides behind me to ease my body closer. Peeta’s breath is warm as he leans in, touching his nose to mine. Our eyes lock, and I see that he’s uncertain, unsure if he really should kiss me, even though I’ve asked him to. I think that he’s trying to keep my best interests in mind, being considerate of my previous confusion and making sure that I’m not rushing into this decision.

    But I’m not. I’m not saying I want a relationship…I just want another kiss.

     So I close the distance between us myself, one hand coming up to grasp the back of his neck like he so often does himself. Our lips meet in the middle, just grazing each other, but that quickly changes. Peeta presses his mouth harder against mine, but it’s still gentle. His thumb traces circles on my cheek and while he doesn’t hold me terribly close, he holds on tightly. But he doesn’t have to worry about it—I won’t run away this time. I’m enjoying myself too much.

     His soft kisses change eventually, and our lips lock together, soft and warm. I dare to slide my fingers through the hair at the back of his head and it only makes him kiss me more insistently, his own digits weaving themselves through stick-straight strands of my hair. Every minute or so he’ll pull back to breathe, and a few times I open my eyes to look at his again, the sparkling blue so bright in the dimly lit living room.

     Eventually, Peeta makes a joke about falling asleep with his lips still glued to mine and I laugh, but he really does look tired. We are college kids after all, and we don’t sleep as much as we should. I know that I’m as good as exhausted.

     We agree to have a more in-depth discussion on this at a later date, and then he pulls himself up off the couch and fishes his keys out of his pocket. I don’t know how I didn’t hear his car when he rolled up in it, but it didn’t occur to me that he must’ve driven it here. It’s too dark out for him to have walked, and he certainly didn’t _teleport_ to my front door. The keys jingle as he makes his way to the door, but I get up and hurry after him, stopping him halfway.

     “Peeta…” He seems to know what I want, and he leans in for a final kiss goodbye and goodnight. Then when he reaches the door and goes to open it, I slide forward again, tugging on his arm. But instead of a kiss, I wrap my arms around him in a tight hug, because that’s what I really want to have before he leaves. Peeta presses his face into my hair and mumbles my name, both because he wants to say it and because I eventually have to let him go.

     I stand on the porch as Peeta drives away, watching the lights that shine from either end of his Buick disappear into the night.

     I like Peeta Mellark. I don’t necessarily love him, no, it’s too soon for that. Much too soon. And I’m not necessarily _falling in love_ with him either, but there is a distinct possibility of that happening.

     I stand there for a moment in the light of the porch, smiling because I can’t think of anything else to do. Then I go back inside, switching on the TV and watching the first thing that’s on, a documentary on ancient cultures and whatnot. I fall asleep quickly, of course, because it’s not a very captivating thing to be watching.

     When I wake up, Prim has made blueberry pancakes. She asks if I’m all right after last night and I tell her that yes, I’m splendid, and ask how she’s feeling on this fine morning. Prim, of course, is puzzled by my cheeriness and makes me an extra pancake in case everything that’s happened has worn down on my sanity. I know for a fact that Prim’s pancakes would fix that if it were true—my sister makes brilliant pancakes.

     For about an hour I help Prim with a project she has to do for school, but eventually I get antsy. I shower and put on clean clothes, and I braid my hair sloppily to drape over my shoulder. I give Prim kiss goodbye and tell her I might be back, but in case I’m not, there’s plenty of money in the lockbox I keep under the kitchen sink, if she wants to order pizza or Chinese or something. Then I’m off, sliding behind the wheel of the Beetle and driving away into town.

     The bakery is crowded on Sundays. I drive by, even though it isn't really on the way to my destination. I only pass it because I want to catch a glimpse the blue and gold letters again and see if maybe the blue and gold boy was working up front. He is—he’s wiping down a table near the window, in fact, but he doesn’t see me as I roll by. He’s busy picking up the salt and sugar shakers to clean the surface under them.   

     He smiles while he works. I wonder if he always does that, or if it’s something in particular that’s made him so joyful.

    When I reach my actual destination, I drive along the winding paths that are much like those in the courtyard at school, except that they are specifically designed for vehicles and don’t have the same perilous walls lining them. I park in the shade and step out of the car, locking it behind me as I breathe in the fresh air. Then I begin to walk among the dead.

     It doesn’t take me long to locate the grave I’m looking for. I’ve been here before, after all, though not in a while. My father’s name is carved into the stone, as well as a short memoir below it and the dates of his birth and death. I sit down and read it over.

     _David Everdeen. Loving husband and devoted father, forever in our hearts he sings._

     I used to think the singing thing was cheesy, but now I appreciate it.

     I sit there in the grass with my legs tucked beneath me, telling my father’s grave about everything that’s happened in his absence. I’ve never done this before, spoken to him like this, but it’s a pity that it’s taken so long for me to do so. I tell him what happened to my mother when he died, and I tell him that I took care of her and Prim like I knew he’d want me to. I tell him that Prim is really beautiful now and that I wish he could see her and watch her grow up with me, and I tell him that I’m going to UNC Panem but I still don’t know what for, exactly. I tell him about Peeta, and I sit there in silence as the breeze drifts by and stirs the wayward hairs from my braid.

     I cry too. Quite a bit. The whole reason I didn’t bring Prim along is because I knew I’d end up crying, and she saw enough of that last night.

     Before I leave the cemetery, I sing my father a lullaby. I never truly said goodbye those seven years ago, so today, on a Sunday in October, I say goodnight instead.  


	8. Chapter 8

When I get back to school that evening, I realize something. Annie and Finn knew about Peeta’s crush on me the whole time, but they dutifully kept their mouths shut. But the moment I walk into my dorm room, Annie’s discretion fades completely as she bombards me with questions. Did he tell me? How much did he tell me? What did I do about it? I gather that Peeta indicated the nature of last night’s events in some way, but he didn’t tell the whole story, and for that I’m glad. I briefly explain to Annie what happened as I unload some of the clean clothes I brought from home.

     “So you’re an item now?” she asks. I shake my head.

     “We’re something,” I say. Annie looks a bit puzzled. “But I’m not going to go around hanging on his arm and referring to him as honey or baby or my boyfriend.”

     “Oh.”

     I continue unpacking in silence, and Annie retreats to her desk with a sharpie in hand. I didn’t mean to disappoint her, but the truth of the matter is that I still don’t know what’s really going on between Peeta and me. I like him, and he likes me, and that’s all I can really say.

 *****

The week is riddled with classes and homework and exhaustion, but it’s all the same as what I’ve already been going through. My meals are taken in the dining hall with Annie and Finn and Peeta, which, as always, is a bright spot. The only differences there is the way he’ll sling his arm around me or hold my hand, and that we greet each other with kisses and part with them too. We don’t really have alone time—Finn or Annie is always around, whether we be taking a walk in the courtyard or working on my paper. So even though Peeta brings up the subject of defining our relationship, it gets shot down quickly because I don’t want to talk about it in front of people.

     On Friday, Finn and Annie accompany us on another stroll through the courtyard. We’re headed towards the dining hall for dinner, and Annie is riding on Finn’s back again. She just casually hangs on like a koala or something, her ink-covered arms linked around his neck. Peeta and I trail after them, walking with quite a bit of space between us even though we’re holding hands. Peeta is just as jolly as ever, volleying banter back and forth with Finn as we walk.

     Finn turns around and walks backwards, despite Annie’s protests as she thumps him on the chest. He reaches up to grasp her hands.

     “So,” he says, eyeing me. “Hasn’t Mellark taken you on a proper date yet?”

     I shake my head and look at Peeta. He blushes lightly.

     “Um, I haven’t gotten around to it…” he says, wide-eyed and taken off guard by the question. In truth, I hadn’t expected him to take me out on a date by now. I hadn’t expected him to start showing up after my classes with a cup of coffee or tea for me, prepared the way I like it, but he’s done that a few times. I hadn’t expected him to want to hold my hand and kiss me when everyone can see, but he obviously doesn’t mind an audience. So really, what’s stopping him from actually asking me out?

     “Who says it has to be him who takes me on a date?” I ask. “Can’t I be the one to take him on a date?”

     Peeta still looks startled. “Katniss…”

     “No, I will not yield. I’m taking you on a date,” I say with determination, squeezing his hand tighter. He smiles. “Will tomorrow do? Or do you work?”

     “I can get Walden to take my shift,” he says, grinning now. We continue walking, and he swings our joined hands. Finn and Annie watch on with huge smiles on their faces. As if every good dream they’ve ever had has come true. I roll my eyes, but really I’m quite satisfied with their reactions. It’s not every day I tell a boy to go out with me, and I’d rather be met with dorky grins than horrified silence or something.

     “No, actually, you can still work. We can go out after,” I say. Annie and Finn keep looking on with starry eyes and I give them a look that I think reflects how strange I think they’re being. Annie just giggles and Finn adjusts his grip on her. “What?” I finally ask. “Have you never seen a person ask another person on a date before?”

     They say nothing. Finn turns around and heads into the dining hall, still not bringing Annie down from her perch. I wonder why he wants to waltz into such a crowded room like that with her still on his back, but then, he’s already paraded her through the courtyard. What difference does it make if he does it at dinner as well?

     Peeta and I are still behind. We pay at the door and head towards the table that Finn and Annie have selected—it’s right in the middle of the madness, but no one seems to notice their antics. I can’t say the same for Peeta and me as we walk past the other tables hand in hand. I feel eyes on us everywhere, and I can guess who they belong to. All the girls who’ve ever had their eye on him realizing that all of a sudden, Peeta Mellark is off the market. I spot Glimmer in one cluster of students, looking especially miffed about it.

     That actually makes me quite pleased.

     “So where are you gonna take me?” asks Peeta as Finn and Annie depart to gather their food. They’ve physically separated, for the most part, though she still clings to the back of his brightly colored swim-team jacket.

     “To dinner,” I reply quickly.

     “Hm,” he says, and I panic thinking that maybe he expected something more creative from me. I don’t know what else to do though. I’m not inventive or original. When I think of dates, I think of dinner or a movie, or dinner and a movie. And there’s no movies out that I really want to go see and I just saw one with Prim last week, and plus it’s kind of expensive to have both dinner and a movie.

     “ _What?_ ” I ask. “That’s what normal people do. It’s normal.”

     Peeta laughs and tugs on my braid. He never really used to do that before, even though everyone else did. Lately, he touches me more—or maybe I just notice it more. They’re innocent and chaste touches most of the time, brushing hair out of my face or tracing swirling patterns on the skin of my arm. Other times, when he kisses me, I can feel there’s something more in the way he holds on longer than I think he will, or how his hands twitch away from their place on my waist or back for just a second, like he wants them somewhere else.

      I don’t understand Peeta for the life of me, but I know he cares about me, and I care about him. That’s all I need for now.

 *****

I agree to pick him up at the bakery around five-thirty, which is when he stops working this Saturday, apparently. Beforehand, Annie got Finn to drive her to my house and I regrettably let them both in. Finn is on his best behavior, keeping his feet off the coffee table and using his manners and not cursing once in front of Prim. Annie, however, goes insane and my sister follows her example.

     I stand in the doorway of the bedroom while Prim and Annie practically empty the contents of the closet and dresser. I tried to protest, insisting that I’m perfectly capable of dressing myself, but they wouldn’t hear it. They titter on about what’s to be done with my hair and makeup—I tell them I don’t want to wear makeup, but they ignore my presence and continue searching out the proper attire for my date with Peeta. I groan and go back out into the living room, where Finn is watching ESPN or something.

     “They’re killing me,” I say. He smiles at me and pats the seat next to me. I amble over to join him, taking a swig of the soda I gave him when he got here. I catch a glimpse of a lyric written on his weirdly hairless arms—he shaves them, I think, because he’s a swimmer. It’s one of the longer things I’ve seen Annie write, and it takes up a lot of space on his arm and I have to turn my head to read it properly. _She is the days I can’t get over. She is the nights that I call home. Endlessly, for you I’ll always wait._

     I think it’s a good choice. It fits Finn and Annie well, whatever it’s from.

     “I think Annie has been waiting for this moment since she first met you,” says Finn, smiling because he knows I’ve read his arm. “Peeta talked about you a lot.”

     Truthfully, I don’t know what to say to this. I’m not surprised by it, exactly, seeing as how close Peeta is to Finn and Annie. Of course they know quite a bit about the girl he’s been pining after for who knows how long now. But it’s the fact that it’s been a while that gets me. He didn’t really know me until this year…so there had to be some fantasies and expectations that he formed to fill the folder in his mental filing cabinet, right? How is a girl to live up to that sort of thing?

     Finn watches my face as I think about it and he bumps my shoulder with his.

     “Hey,” he says, his tone reassuring. “Don’t worry about it too much. At this point it’s pretty much impossible for Peeta to get a bad impression of you. And honestly,” Finn smiles, “you’re a pretty great gal, anyway.”

     Yeah, it doesn’t exactly make me feel better, but I appreciate the sentiment.

     Annie chooses this moment to hunt me down and drag me back into the bedroom, which looks less like a bedroom now and more like a boutique that somebody completely trashed. When I’m back, Prim bounces up to me and holds up a dress that I haven’t worn since I was a little older than she is now. It’s the sort of dress that has a collar and buttons, in a dusty blue that would bring out her eyes or my mother’s, but not mine. In fact, it was my mother’s, once upon a time.

     They wrestle me into the dress and roll up the sleeves and put a belt around my waist so it doesn’t just hang there. They make me wear a pair of Prim’s white sandals and they curl my hair. Annie’s so exuberant about it I’m afraid she’s going to miss my hair and leave angry red burns on my neck. When they pull out the makeup, they argue about how much they should put on and what colors and every time I open my mouth I’m interrupted by Prim proposing one thing and Annie another. I had no idea there were so many different things you could do with makeup.

     I’m glad when they settle on a more “natural look” even though they still put on so much foundation and powder than I’m practically blanketed in the shit. The lip stuff they use just adds shimmer, and I decline the eyeliner bit completely because there’s no way I’m letting Annie near my eyes with a pencil. The whole time I sit on the lid of the toilet as they fuss over me, and I really can’t be more relieved when it’s finally over.

     But when I look in the mirror, I realize it’s just the fuss and preparation that I don’t like. The result is enough to make me do a double-take. I look like myself, mostly, just made up with a fancy hairdo, but it’s enough of a change that I begrudgingly thank them for making me look this nice. Prim gives me a hug and so does Annie, and then they tug me out into the living room to show me off.

     “What do you think?” Annie asks Finn, flouncing over to him and sitting on the couch to admire her work from a distance.

     “Katniss looks as lovely as she always does,” he replies. “Just with some cream on her face and fuller eyelashes. And a dress.”

     “Wow, thanks,” I mutter. He laughs and smirks.

     “I’m teasing. Peeta’s panties are sure to drop,” says Finn, and then he freezes and glances at Prim, who has my hand wrapped in hers and is bubbling with excitement. She doesn’t really seem all too shocked by the comment, so I let it slide and give him a warning glance. Finn grins again and leans back, draping his arm around his girlfriend. “Now Annie, did you forget that we were supposed to go on our own date tonight?”

     “No,” she says sharply, turning to him. “I told you we were coming here first.”

      “Yes,” he says. “You did. But you did not indicate how long it would take to simply _say hi_ to Katniss.”

     “Oooh,” I say. “Devious.”

     Annie ignores my comment and sticks her tongue out at Finn, who grabs it with two fingers and laughs at her before letting go. Then she pulls away from him and approaches me. Before I realize what Annie’s doing, she’s already pulled out her sharpie and is writing on my forearm.

      “ _Annie_ ,” I grumble. She shushes me and finishes what she’s doing. Then she goes back and adds a few finishing touches. I sigh with exasperation and she makes a face at me.

     “Chill,” she says as she waltzes toward the door. “It’s just a bit of good luck.”

     She and Finn leave without another word. Some friends they are, not even saying goodbye as they stroll hand in hand back to his car. Prim waves enthusiastically out the front window while I trudge into the bathroom with the intent of washing off whatever Annie wrote. But as soon as the water’s running, I look down and actually read it.

     _You’ll be the brightest star in the sky_ is printed neatly on my arm, and she drew little stars scattered around it. I can’t help but smile and reach to turn off the faucet. Peeta won’t mind. He won’t even be surprised. I look at my reflection in the mirror again, and then down at the lyric that Annie has added to my ensemble, and I feel a burst of morale. I’m ready for this.

     Prim packs me a bag full of whatever makeup refreshers I need and my phone and whatnot, and as I leave, she gives me another hug.

     “My Katniss is all grown up,” she says into my hair, and I squeeze her tighter for a moment before letting go.

     “No, little duck,” I say. “I’m still your big sister, no matter how old we get. Got that?”

     She nods and I have to hug her again before I go. I make sure she knows to feed herself dinner and to work on her homework a bit before I get home, and I give her a sloppy kiss on the check before stepping out the front door and heading to my car.

     When I pull up beside the bakery, Peeta’s waiting in the front window. He leans his head on one hand, the other arm laid against the window sill and grasping his elbow. It looks like something out of an old movie, with the big bakery letters floating above him and the enormous grin on his face. I lean over to the passenger seat and tap on the window, waving hello and motioning for him to get out here. He nods happily and shouts something over his shoulder before loping out the door.

     Peeta opens the door and gets in easily. “Hi,” he says, leaning over for a kiss. He actually dwarfs the front seat, taking up a lot more space than I thought he would. But, as always, his tremendous presence is welcome. I let him kiss me chastely, and then I pull him back for another kiss with a little less innocence. The pink of his cheeks darkens when he falls back into his seat, and I laugh.

     As I drive, Peeta looks around the tiny interior of my car, which always seemed bigger until now. There isn’t much to see, obviously, save for the slight clutter in the backseat. There’s a laundry bag with sheets and pillowcases back there, as well as a few receipts and papers that are of no importance. He doesn’t seem very interested in that though, and begins to fiddle with the dials on the radio. I glance over at him with a raised eyebrow, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

      A song comes on, something Annie has blasted in our dorm before, though I don’t know who sings it or what it’s called. Peeta, however, grins and turns the volume up. He starts bobbing his head along to the music and mouthing the lyrics. I have to fight not to gape at him and keep my eyes on the road.

     He joins in on the chorus. “ _I’ll be your shelter, I’ll be your storm,”_ he sings loudly and slightly off key, adding in air guitar. “I’ll make you shiver, I’ll keep you warm. Whatever weather, baby I’m yourrrsss!”

     “Peeta, what are you doing?”

    “BABY I WILL BE YOUR EVERYTHING,” he bellows, making me unsure whether I should laugh at him or be genuinely embarrassed for him. I settle on both as he continues to sing along. As the second verse starts up, he turns to me and says, “Katniss.”

     “What?” I say, still chuckling.

     “Katniss,” he says, reaching over to tug on my sleeve. “Katniss, sing along.”

     “No,” I reply, wrinkling my nose and shrugging him off. He continues to poke me, though, even though I’m driving. “Peeta, if you keep doing that we’ll crash.”

     “We won’t,” he insists. “Katniss. Sing.” Peeta makes a pleading face and jumps in on the chorus again when it starts. I groan.

     “I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” I say. “But…”

     “Yes?” he stops singing to look at me expectantly, his eyes bright. I grimace and shake my head. He nods and latches onto my arm again. The chorus slides into the bridge and I manage to pry my arm out of Peeta’s grip.

     “And _every time you close your eyes_ , _I will be by your side_ ,” I sing, which satisfies him. He sits back and grins as I continue. “Because _every time you make me sing, baby I will be your everything._ ”

     “There you go,” he says, beaming. “Keep going. It’s great.”

     I know he won’t leave me be until I do, so I keep singing to the end, and Peeta looks on like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen or heard. 

     Once the song is over, he turns the radio off and touches my hair really lightly, not tugging on it for fear of messing it up. I cast a sidelong glance at him, and I can’t help but smile because he looks so pleased.

     “Happy now?” I ask him. Peeta nods and continues lightly sliding his hand over my curls, not sure what else to do with them.

     “You have a beautiful voice,” he tells me. “You always have.”

     I shrug. I’m not going to deny it. “My dad loved to sing. When he was a kid, it was all he wanted to do with his life. Whether it be solo or in a boy band, he just wanted to sing for stadiums full of people, to be the next big thing. Then he met my mom and became a music teacher instead.”

     Peeta nods. His father probably told him, because my parents and his all went to school together.

     “It kind of sucks,” I say. “Instead of dropping on stage in front of a million people, he died while tuning a piano.”

     Peeta shifts uncomfortably, and I instinctively lift a hand off the wheel to grasp one of his. His hands are square and large, the kind of hands one would associate with a football player, not really a painter. But Peeta’s an artist more than an athlete, I think, otherwise he’d still be playing. I squeeze his hand, and he smiles again.

     We arrive at the restaurant, one of my favorite places, right near the edge of town. Peeta and I climb out of the car and I lead him inside. The hostess at the podium near the door collects menus and stuff for us, and Peeta’s eyes sweep along the inside of the restaurant. I know he’s been here before, but for some reason he examines the place like it’s new and foreign. It’s awash with a yellowy glow from the lights overhead, and the different colors of booths and chair cushions must be fascinating to his eyes. He probably thinks about painting it.

     When we sit down in our booth, a blue one, Peeta picks up a menu and opens it. He peers over the top of it, and even though I can’t see his mouth, I know that he’s smiling. It’s in his eyes. I kick him under the table, which makes him drop the menu and pretend to look shocked, right before he kicks me back. I don’t kick again; instead I just tap my foot against his ankle very lightly. It’s a weird feeling, because my legs are bare and he’s wearing long jeans that scrunch up at the bottom over his boots. Peeta grins.

     “So what’s good here?” he asks.

     “Nothing. It all sucks,” I say. “It’s like actual horse dung.”

     “Yeah, I’ll probably just get a burger,” he says, practically ignoring me. A waitress comes and takes our drink orders—we both ask for root beer, and she runs off to retrieve them. I scan the menu in her absence, settling on my usual pasta dish and make sure Peeta’s okay with getting an appetizer too. As soon as the server is back, we order, and she scribbles it all down on a notepad. She’s a small girl with bouncy red hair, but her voice is big and she smiles a lot. Her nametag says _Myra_ in pretty handwriting, and I recognize her from all the times I’ve been here with Prim and Madge.

      Over the course of the meal, Peeta and I talk and laugh and praise the good food. It’s just like how we usually are. We talk about my paper and our classes, and we talk about what his brothers are up to these days and what my sister is doing in school. It’s better than any date I’ve been on, which were all awkward or boring or downright awful. Under the table, our feet and legs and knees knock against each other on purpose, and it isn’t unpleasant. Peeta wipes sauce off my face with his thumb once, and I steal some of his French fries despite the fact that he jokingly warns me not to, or he’ll kill me in my sleep.

     The bill arrives eventually, because our plates are almost clean, and I reach to grab the leather folder thing it’s in. Peeta goes for it too, and our hands end up stacked on top of it. He smiles and jerks it away from me.

     “You brought me here,” he says, smiling. “It’s the least I can do.”

     “Sweetheart, that’s not how it works,” I retort, pulling it back towards myself. “I took you on the date. I pay. That’s all there is to it.”

     He wrinkles his nose, but he’s still smiling. “Sweetheart?”

     “Yes, that’s what I said, isn’t it?” I say, snatching the check completely away from him and peeking inside. It’s not a bad price at all—the appetizer and drinks made it go up, but I prepared for that. I dig through my purse for the money, and Peeta taps the table with his palms.

     I pay and leave a tip, and then we sit there for a few more minutes waiting for the waitress to come get it. I don’t know why we’re waiting—I paid cash, so we can just leave—but it’s kinda nice just sitting here looking at Peeta. I smile at him and he smiles back, and he nudges my foot with his own. When we finally get out of the booth and start to leave, he puts his hand to the small of my back as we walk.

     That’s a boyfriend thing. I mean, I’m pretty sure it is.

     The drive back to Peeta’s house is quiet. He plays with the radio dials again, but he doesn’t really find anything of value, apparently, because soon enough he stops and just watches me drive. It’s not too late yet, and around us, the sky is just beginning to darken. He keeps watching me, his blue eyes as clear as ever, but his pupils slightly blown. I read somewhere that your pupils enlarge when you look at something appealing or attractive—I hope that’s the reason. I know it could just be the dimming light outside, but I really want it to be about me. Is that so bad?

     The Mellarks have always lived really close to the bakery. And I mean really close. The house, a two story Victorian style home painted white with red shutters, is right across the square. They literally walk across the park to get to work. The driveway is empty when I pull in, so I turn back to look at the bakery, where the lights in the window still glow.

     “It’s still open? Even this late?” I ask. Peeta nods.

     “Dad closes up around nine, comes home, and goes right to bed. On Saturdays, at least. Then he gets up early in the morning and does it all over again,” says Peeta. “Rarely takes a day off. He says when I take over the bakery, he hopes I keep him on until he’s so old that he crumbles to dust.”

     I nod. “And your brother? Walden?”

     “Flexible schedule. Dad has other employees. He mostly just encourages us to do our best at life,” he says with a shrug. “Live and love and dream and shit. He’s paying part of Cap’s tuition, and mine. The bakery makes good money, and it’s been around a long time.”

     “Yeah?”

     “Yeah,” he says, reaching over to touch my hair again. He seems fascinated with it. “So…I had a great time tonight, Katniss. Thanks. We should _definitely_ do that again sometime.”

     “I hope you don’t think you’re leaving this car within the next minute,” I reply, turning to him and smirking. Peeta leans closer.

     “Of course not,” he says with a mischievous glint in his eye, and then he kisses me. Our mouths crush together and he shoves his hands through my hair, not caring anymore about messing it up. He pulls me as close as he can with this seating arrangement, without dragging me onto his lap, though I don’t think I’d mind if he did that. His hands roam, and so do mine, exploring and grasping as we sigh into each other’s mouths. The kissing has graduated from lip-lock to Frenching, with a certain degree of passion that I haven’t really encountered before.

     Damn, Peeta Mellark is a good kisser.

     I want his hands and mouth on me, to feel his weight pressing me down as he kisses me into oblivion. I curl my fingers through his hair and force myself to pull away, because I know Peeta won’t go so far if I don’t ask him to. Breathing heavily, I gaze at him until he opens his eyes, and then glance to the backseat. He’s already red from the excitement of kissing me, and his lips deliciously swollen as he licks them, thinking on it.

     “I…I don’t know…” he says hesitantly, nervously. “It’s um…a small backseat.”

     “You don’t think you’ll fit?” I ask, tilting my head to one side. He shrugs. “Oh…well…”

     “Do you want to come inside?” Peeta blurts. I blink and glance at the house. “I don’t mean to, um, seduce you or anything. Just. If you want to…” He fidgets and smiles shyly. “It’s just Walden and Dad and me living here now, and, well, they’re at the bakery…”

     “Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, I’ll go in.”

     We scramble out of the vehicle and up the path to the front door. On the porch, Peeta grabs onto my face and kisses me again, quick but still searing, before he starts to fumble with his keys. I don’t really pay attention to the décor or layout of the house when we stumble inside, the only thing I care about is the landscape of Peeta’s body pressing into mine and the way his mouth feels when he presses kisses down my neck. He guides me up a flight of stairs, and then, once we reach the top, down the hallway to a door at the end.

     “Peeta,” I say breathlessly. “More stairs?”

     He laughs, the same easy laugh he always has, but with a subtle difference. It’s rough and low and overflowing with desire. He doesn’t answer me with words, instead hoisting me up so that my legs wrap around his waist and he has to hold on to my ass in order to support me. I yelp and cling to him, but he quickly finds my mouth again, kissing me with the same desire that his laugh held. He carts me up the stairs and into an attic bedroom, with big windows overlooking his backyard. I catch a glimpse of a painting on an easel and a desk in one corner before he drops me down on the bed.

     Peeta lowers himself and supports his body with his arms, tucking his face in the crook of my neck. I whisper in his ear, something that makes his breath catch. He twists the bedclothes in his fingers and lifts his head to peer down at me through his spidery blond eyelashes.

     “Katniss,” he breathes. “Are you…are you sure?”

     I nod. Of course I’m sure.

     I pull him back down and kiss him, hoping it conveys just how sure I am.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs: 
> 
> Endlessly by Green River Ordinance 
> 
> Priceless, by Mayday Parade
> 
> Be Your Everything, by Boys Like Girls


	9. Chapter 9

The thing about big windows is that, when left uncovered, they let in a shitload of sunlight. The warmth of it on my face and the brightness in my eyes makes me want to burrow further under the covers and sleep through the day. But I can’t do that. I simply turn my head to look at Peeta, fast asleep with his face pressed against my upper arm, his arms circling my body loosely. I could easily pull away from him now, but I don’t, not right away.

     When I do, I tread lightly around the room so I don’t wake him. I collect my clothes from the foot of the bed and slip them on, and my purse from where it sits on Peeta’s desk chair. I dig through it to find my phone, which alerts me of a bunch of missed calls and messages. I curse under my breath and scribble out a note for Peeta on a piece of wayward paper, folding it and setting it on his nightstand before I tiptoe down the stairs with my shoes dangling from one hand.

     At the bottom, before venturing into the second floor hallway, I sit down on a step and call Prim. She picks up after a couple of rings, knowing that it’s me because of a little invention called Caller ID.

     “Katniss,” she says. I groan, detecting the smugness in her tone. My sister is fourteen, but she knows the ways of the world. She knows what it means when a person goes on a date and then doesn’t come home until the next day. “Did you have a good time on your date?”

     “It was all right.”

     “I’ll bet,” says Prim. I know, I just know that she’s sitting pretty and smiling to herself because my date with Peeta was a success. By her standards, at least. “I mean, you must’ve had fun to have stayed out _all night long_.”

     “Prim,” I protest. She only laughs.

     “It’s fine. I’m not a baby anymore,” she tells me. “And you don’t exactly live here anymore either, so. There’s nothing wrong with you going out and having some fun without your baby sister to hold you back.”

     “You will never hold me back,” I say sternly.                                                 

     “No, that’s all your doing,” she replies. “Okay, just, when you come home be prepared to tell me about it. I mean the actual date, not the sleeping with Peeta part. Ew. Don’t want to know.”

     “Prim!”

     She laughs and hangs up on me. I scowl and toss the phone back into my bag and throw open the door to the attic staircase. The hall is empty, though I half-expected that Walden or Peeta’s father would be passing through and I’d run into them. I forgot to check the time, but I assume they’ve already gone to open the bakery and I head to the ground floor to see how quietly I can slip out. I wonder if Peeta has woken up yet, or if he’ll hear my engine start before I drive away.

     I’m walking past the kitchen, headed towards the door, when I see movement in the corner of my eye. Within the next second, Walden Mellark swings around the corner and locks eyes with me. Not only does it startle me enough that I squeak, but also it’s kind of awkward that he’s caught me in my attempt to leave the house unnoticed. He has a painted mug in his hand, the steam drifting up towards his face, his expression very, very similar to the one he always wears when he’s working the register at the bakery. Not blank, exactly, but unimpressed. I wonder if it’s how he always looks.

     “Dad,” he says as he looks me up and down. “I told you the car was Katniss Everdeen’s.”

     Mr. Mellark appears behind his eldest son, and I realize that Peeta has more of his father in him than I thought. They have the same broad shoulders and facial shape, and their eyes hold a similar gleam despite them being different shades of blue. But Mr. Mellark is slightly bigger in a few respects, his height being one of them—in fact, Walden is about a mile high as well, and combined the two of them make me feel like I drank the shrinking potion from _Alice in Wonderland._

     “Hello,” I say, standing up straight and trying to be as tall as possible. I collect myself, refusing to appear startled or caught off guard. “Walden, is it? And Mr. Mellark. Great to meet you, I mean, officially.”

     I hold out my hand for shaking, because it’s what people normally do. I’m not at all surprised when Walden just looks at it, and Mr. Mellark nudges him aside so he can give me a handshake warm enough that it makes up for his son’s refusal. Before I can say another word, Peeta’s father has his hand between my shoulder blades, guiding me into the kitchen. It’s a rather big kitchen, which isn’t surprising, considering the fact that these people run a bakery for a living. We continue on into the dining room, where Mr. Mellark pulls out my chair. I sit and put my belongings on the floor, folding my hands in my lap and plastering on a smile.

     And thus, my hopes to leave are diminished.

     Mr. Mellark makes small talk and breakfast, and Walden sits across from me. We seem to be having continuous staring contests. Meanwhile, I pick up little details. His mug is decorated with zoo animals, and I recognize the drawing style as Peeta’s. The room has striped wallpaper and the carpet is plushy and purple, and every time Walden goes longest without blinking, the corner of his mouth turns up just a little bit.

     I hear the house creak and groan as Peeta wakes up and starts moving about. He shuffles and stomps and I hear him curse once as he makes his way down the final stairwell. I watch from the table as he ambles into the kitchen, wearing a new set of clothes—sweats and his sailboat shirt. His hair is mussed and he seems groggy, maybe even grumpy as he maneuvers around his father to get to the coffee pot.

     “No, I made tea,” says Mr. Mellark, gesturing to the cups on the counter. “It’s steeping.”

     “Why are there three?” he grumbles. Apparently he still hasn’t seen me sitting here. “Walden fucking hates tea.”

     “That’s true,” says Walden, looking over. He sips black coffee from his mug and tries to hide the smirk. “But your girlfriend here doesn’t.”

     Peeta turns his head and I wave from my place at the dining room table. A smile touches his lips and he instantly abandons the cup of tea he was eyeing, striding up to me instead. He hovers nearby for just a moment before taking the chair next to mine, but sitting in it sideways to face me.

     “Hey,” he says, tugging gently at a strand of my hair. “I thought you’d left.”

     I lean in closer. “I was going to,” I mutter, hoping his dad won’t hear me. Walden does, and he snorts.

     “ _Why?_ ” Peeta looks befuddled. I don’t really want to explain it to him right here, right now, right within earshot of his brother and father. Instead, I take one of his hands in both of mine and give him the most apologetic look I can muster. I didn’t mean to upset him by leaving before he woke up, and I hope he realizes that it was about me and not him.

     I make it through breakfast somehow, despite Walden’s quiet scrutiny and Mr. Mellark’s constant talk on the weather and his bakery, and all the questions about how I’m doing at school and if my mother is doing well. After we all finish eating, Peeta and his father clear the dishes and insist that since I’m the guest, I don’t have to help. They won’t let me help wash them in the sink, either, since they don’t have a dishwasher. No, that job goes to Walden, and I’m left sitting awkwardly again.

     As I put on my shoes, I turn to Peeta. “So,” I say. “I’ve got to get going.”

     Peeta nods without saying anything, but I can see the crease between his eyebrows as he puzzles over it. He doesn’t understand why I want to leave, and I don’t want to tell him, really, for fear of messing everything up. But I know that he’ll ask and I’ll have to explain. Peeta is a very hard person to lie to.

     Sure enough, he walks me to the door. As soon as we’re outside on the porch, he catches me by my elbow and meets my eyes.

     “Why are you leaving?” he asks. “Is it Prim?”

     I think he knows it’s not about Prim.

     “I…I just have to go,” I stammer.

     “What’s wrong?” Peeta looks pained. “Is it about last night? Did I do something wrong?”

     “No, no,” I assure him. “You didn’t. It was good.”

     “Good,” he parrots, like he isn’t sure how to interpret my use of the word. I sigh and walk around my car, pulling out the keys. “Katniss…”

     “It isn’t you. I…I just think it was too fast,” I say without looking at him, even though it’s pretty much the truth. “I mean, like we’re moving too fast.”

     “You said you were okay with it.”

     “I wasn’t thinking, all right? I wasn’t thinking about what it’d mean. I wasn’t thinking about how I’m not ready to be serious, how I’m not even sure if I should call you my boyfriend or not.”

     Peeta leans against the car, his weight rocking it a little. I look up to see him with his back to me, raking his hands through his hair and rubbing his face; from what I can tell, he’s quite distressed. After a moment he’s standing up straight again and facing me, his expression no longer as confused. Instead he looks sad. A bit angry. I wince.

    “You weren’t thinking...you don’t want a relationship, do you? Or is it just that you don’t like me enough?” he asks darkly. “Because if you didn’t like me, you shouldn’t have gone out with me. You shouldn’t have let me kiss you that second time, or the time after that. You don’t want to call me your boyfriend, then _don’t_.”

     “I never said I don’t like you,” I say. “I said that last night I made a poor decision in having sex with you.” He grimaces. “No, no, I don’t mean it was a bad decision. Ugh. I mean that I didn’t think it through enough. I mean that it was too early and I don’t want to make promises so early on, just in case I can’t keep them.”

     “It wasn’t a marriage proposal,” says Peeta.

     “I know. It’s just…”

     “Katniss,” he says through a deep breath. “Don’t. Don’t try to explain it until you’re sure yourself. This whole time I’ve been waiting for you to actually acknowledge what you feel, and it seems to me that you _still_ haven’t figured it out.” Peeta looks away from me, towards the road. “I thought you’d decided, but I was wrong, and I’m sorry that I didn’t make you wait until you were sure.”

     At that, Peeta turns on his heel and heads back towards his house.

     “Let me know when you decide what I mean to you,” he shoots over his shoulder before disappearing inside. I stand there for a minute before angrily kicking the side of my car—how could I have been so stupid? In all my efforts to go without hurting Peeta, I’ve done it anyway. I fucked up.

     I get into the Beetle and back out of the driveway, and just before driving off, I think I see Walden watching me through the kitchen window as he washes the dishes. I think he knows I’d never planned on being there when Peeta woke up.

 *****

Prim interrogates me when I get home, and I happily answer most of her questions. She doesn’t ask about the intimate events that took place under Peeta’s covers, and she doesn’t ask about why I’m here instead of hanging out with him for more of the day. I’m glad for that.

      As we sit on the couch with a carton of ice cream, we watch old Disney movies, happy endings and all. I don’t sit around and call them out on their bullshit for once—instead of grumbling that people don’t turn into clocks and the original little mermaid killed herself, I watch them through different eyes. Not through the eyes of seven-year old Katniss, who owned a figurine of pretty much every princess there was, or through the eyes of the cynic I became in the years following my father’s death.

     In fact, maybe I’m just watching them through regular old college-student Katniss’s eyes, but they’re just leaving a different impression on me. Because if there’s one theme through all of those cheesy animated films, it’s that you’ve got to follow your heart. And the first step to doing that is to know what the hell your heart wants.

     It takes a lot of thinking to figure that out. I leave Prim and go for a walk, to the edge of town where Collins Village ends and the forest begins. Among the tired branches of the trees and bushes that have been here longer than I remember, I think about everything that has happened to me. I look back to the days where everything was bright and sunny, and I look back to the somber days of grief and condolences. I remember my days in the woods with Gale, when I could forget about my mother being so far gone, and how I had to constantly take care of Prim. I remember when Gale told me he was leaving, and how it resulted in a lot of door-slamming and shouting, but no actual pleas for him to stay. I wonder why I got so angry then, and I realize it was because I was never keen on change. The people in my life consisted of my dead father, my partly dead mother, my sister and the boy who called me Catnip—one of them had already gone, how was I supposed to get through the departure of another?

     I haven’t spoken to Gale since, but part of me wants to. I’ve written up letters but never sent them, stared at the house where his mother lives but never gone and knocked on the door. Truly, the connections Gale and I had were enough when we were younger, but now they don’t seem enough to keep us close. Our fathers are both dead, though by different means, and we both love the forest. We’re both full of fire and anger, but also willingness to sacrifice everything for the welfare of somebody else. I’d die for Prim, and he’d die for anyone else, as long as he went down fighting. We are half-orphaned caretakers, and we are fighters, but in the long run we don’t fit. Our personalities clashed a lot more as we got older, and while I still wish him good fortune and whatnot, I don’t think we’ll ever be best friends again.

     Gale gave me a friend when I was alone, but it was Peeta who gave me hope. He helped feed Prim and me until my mother realized that life goes on whether you want it to or not. He was a burst of color in the hallways of the high school when I needed it—his paintings hung on the wall and his smile passing me in the hallway. On my first day of college, he went out of his way to make me feel welcome. The list goes on.

     I can’t forget that.

 *****

When I get back to school, Annie isn’t in the dorm. It’s late at night and the stars are out, scattered and sparkling over the courtyard. I wonder where she might be and decide that she’s probably with Finn, downstairs in his and Peeta’s dorm. I’d go down there, but I’m too afraid that they’ll ask questions. As much as I enjoyed my time with Peeta last night, it’s also become a little more complicated since they last saw me. There’s not really a chance that Peeta will be around, because he works at the bakery today until closing—that’s just one of the things I remember from the conversation at breakfast.

     Eventually, Annie comes back to find me sprawled across my mattress reading one of my dad’s books and fiddling with my necklace. I rarely take it off now.

     “So?” she prods, sitting on my bed and nudging me over so she can have more space. I roll on my back and lay there as she gets comfortable.

     “It was fun,” I say. “We went to dinner, and sang in the car on the way there, and talked while we ate and stuff. Just your average date.”

     Annie looks skeptical. “Is that really all?”

     “What, did Peeta tell you there was more?” I ask, bristling slightly. She shakes her head, pauses, and nods. I groan and turn to bury my face in one of my pillows. “What did he say?”

     “He was vague. Said it went well but didn’t end well,” she replies. “And that you left with some major thinking to do. Also, this is just an observation, you have a hickey right here.” She points to a spot on my neck. “I’d imagine that’s the part that went well.”

     “Shut up, Annie,” I grumble. She sighs.

     “So I take it that’s all you’re going to tell me?”

     “Yeah.”

     “Okay,” says Annie, and she climbs off of my bed and wanders back to her own. “But, you know, if you want to talk about it…I’m always here. Like, always, because I live here full time.”

     “Thanks,” I mumble. “I appreciate that.”

     “Really,” she insists. “We’re friends. That’s what friends do, they talk about this kind of stuff. If you’re not sure about this thing with Peeta—honey, everybody can tell—then _talk_ about it. Talking helps. I don’t have to tell him or Finn _anything_ if you don’t want me to. Confidentiality.”

     I look up at her, seeing her sitting curled up on the edge of her bed, so small-looking compared to the way she usually sits, all sprawled and everywhere. I watch her eyes take on concern, and it occurs to me that Annie is my friend, and she really does want me to be happy. She isn’t Peeta, who says he wants what’s best but obviously hopes for the odds to be in his favor, and she isn’t Finn, who is Peeta’s best friend and easily prone to telling him stuff.

     So I talk. The flow of words is sluggish at first, but it picks up momentum as I relate my thoughts on the whole subject. I never really say outright how afraid I am, afraid to get close, afraid to get hurt, but Annie gathers that from all the talk about my parents and Gale. Gale, who seems like he has nothing to do with it, but really has everything to do with it because of how close we were and what could’ve been. Gale was more familiar than Peeta is—he had sharp edges and flame, but I knew him, and I have always clung to what is familiar.

     Annie tells me that if you stay within the bounds of _familiar_ , there’s never going to be anything new. And I know that she’s right.

 *****

The next day, I don’t see Peeta all morning. I don’t know if he’s cleverly avoiding me or if it just works out that way, without the running into each other and whatnot of the past months. I’m a tad surprised to find myself missing him a little, thinking about his eyes as I brush my teeth and his messy curls through my first class of the day. Vivid memories of recent events weave their way into my thoughts, like the brightness of the sunshine when I woke up in Peeta’s arms, or the way he looked later on, right before he walked away.

    It’s just around noon when I search out his econ class, which turns out to be located in a lecture hall in the bright and modern science building, a few floors below all the clinically clean labs and where they store all the preserved human body parts they have. Brains, hearts, an entire cadaver they call Bill. I think it’s odd how the bio students talk about him—“Did you see Bill today? Yeah, I cut open his spleen.”

     Okay, that’s not really what they say, but it sums up the general idea.

     There’s a sitting area outside the lecture hall, so I park myself in one of the chairs and pull out the book I’m reading, the assigned one. It isn’t one of my father’s books, though I’d much rather be reading one of his beat up paperbacks that I swear sometimes still smell like his aftershave. I’m curled up with my nose in the book when the class lets out, and really it’s not an odd sight on a college campus, so I go unnoticed by the masses. Peeta, however, spots me on his way out and hovers near the door for a moment longer than he really needs to. I pretend not to notice, pretend that I’m so engrossed in this piece of literature (which is actually really boring) that I haven’t noticed him or anything else, really. I see out the corner of my eye when he fidgets, clenches his fists, debates whether or not to approach me.

     Though I don’t know why he really has to debate it at all. It’s not hard to deduce that he’s the only reason I’m here.

     “Katniss,” he finally calls as he strides over, and I look up with a staged little smile. “What are you doing outside my econ class?”

     “Herding sheep.”

     Peeta is unfazed. He adjusts his backpack on his shoulder and continues to gaze steadily down at me. I close my book, leaving a ticket stub tucked between the pages to mark my place. I stand up, shoulder my bag, and look up at him expectantly, waiting for him to ask again, all serious because that’s what is face is like now. His jaw is set and his eyes are less-than-sparkly, and I’m weighed down with the knowledge that I’m probably the reason he looks that way. He isn’t happy with me, though he isn’t particularly angry either, and my showing up out of the blue probably doesn’t do much to improve his mood.

     “Peeta,” I say. “Are you hungry? We can go to lunch, just you and me.”

     “Where?” he asks, intrigued by the idea. His face softens just a bit, but not enough for me to think I’m out of the woods.

     “Wherever.” I shrug. “You pick.”

     “Hm,” Peeta says, rocking back onto his heels and staring off into the space over my head. “Pizza, maybe? I know a place not far from here where it’s pretty good.”

     “Yeah. Pizza sounds good.”

     “Okay,” he nods. “Pizza it is.”

    We walk through the science building in silence, a foot apart like we’re both north poles of magnets, able to be close together but each resisting the other so they hover side by side without ever touching. Along the paths that wind through this part of campus, I keep looking at him, obvious sidelong glances that he must notice, he has to notice. Still, he doesn’t meet my eyes once. His car is in the parking lot for dormitories eleven and twelve, which is situated right between the two buildings. He chose a space that’s in a far corner, so we have to do a bit more walking in uncomfortable quietness to get there.

     Once I’m situated in the passenger seat, I look over at Peeta. I have my bag between my legs, my hands twisted up in the straps, but I want to reach out to him. I want to give his shoulder a comforting squeeze or his arm a reassuring pat. I want to fuss with his hair or trap his hand in mine, but I’m not quite sure I have the nerve. I’m not quite sure if I’ll take it well if he ends up pulling away from any attempt to touch him. So I don’t try, and I swear the silence between us gets deader, like my cowardice scared off all the words. Or perhaps it’s not the silence that is dead, but the words themselves rotting away in figurative graves.

     Peeta turns on the radio as he drives, and he hums along with songs he doesn’t even know. He seems to let go of the tension coiled between us for a moment, enjoying music that drifts around him in place of the silence. I’m glad for it, though I don’t join in.

     The pizza place is near campus but beyond the woods, so we get there only after driving along tree-lined roads with a stripe of cloudless sky above. We slide in through a door that jingles to announce our presence, just like the one in the bakery does, and we choose a booth in a back corner and wait for a server. We order drinks and sit around until they get back to us, and Peeta puts in our pizza order because he knows what I like, and then the waiter leaves us in our quietness instead. Music drifts through the pizzeria, but it’s just composition, nothing to sing to. Peeta fiddles with a straw wrapper and avoids looking at me—I think he’s chosen not to initiate conversation for some reason, probably just so I have to be the one to do it.

     I hadn’t expected him to be any less of himself today, but I suppose the events of Sunday morning have taken their toll on his attitude.

     “Peeta…”

     “Katniss,” he says, finally looking up, his eyes expectant.

     “I’m sorry,” I say to begin, and for a second he looks worried. I think maybe an apology isn’t what he wants, so I hurry to continue, tripping over my own words. “I mean I’m sorry I didn’t have my shit together. I’m not sorry for what happened, not really, but I’m sorry that the circumstances weren’t ideal.”

     “So you don’t regret it?” he asks, and I hear the hope. I shake my head.

     “No. No I don’t,” I say.

     “And what about…us?” he asks. I manage a smile and reach over, folding my hands over his. Peeta grabs onto them, our palms pressed together, our fingers grazing each other’s wrists. “Have you made a decision about that?”

     “Well…you see…” I say. “It’s been hard. With my parents and stuff, you know? Hard to let people in, I guess? I’ve always hated change, and been afraid to fall apart…”

     “Katniss,” he interrupts. “If you’re afraid of heartbreak, let me assure you that the only one here that will be doing any heartbreaking is you. I’d never…you mean too much to me.”

     I blink at him, startled.

     “I…I…um,” I stammer. “You asked me to figure out what you mean to me, and um, I kind of did. To me…you’re like…the shelter to my storm if that makes any sense. Like the sun that breaks through the clouds after a spell of overcast skies. Um. Important,” I say. “You’re important.”

     Peeta smiles, finally, and he lifts my hands to his face, kissing them repeatedly until I let out a shaky laugh.

     “Please tell me I’m your boyfriend now,” he says, squeezing my hands in his and smiling at me. His eyes are clear and hopeful, his grin gleaming white. I take note of the gap between one of his front teeth and the smaller one to its side. I look at him, his tousled hair and goofy smile, and realize that he still looks so young it’s unbelievable. He’s big, of course, and has this angular jaw, but it’s not really his features that make him seem so youthful. It’s the light in his eyes.

     Peeta Mellark, one of the gentlest souls I know.

     I lean in close, as close as I can, and he does it too so our noses are just centimeters away from each other. I smile at him, and I think the answer is clear even though I haven’t said it yet, because he looks so thrilled.  It’s infectious, because I begin to feel giddy too, before I’ve even officially confirmed it.

     “Yes,” I say. “Yes, you are.”


	10. Chapter 10

My paper is due that Thursday. Peeta helps me with it quite a bit during the week, proofreading and rewriting and citing sources, though that’s all interrupted occasionally by joking and laughter and kissing and touching. The night after turning it in, we all go out for ice cream to celebrate, though Peeta and I end up ditching Finn and Annie to go for a drive around downtown Panem, the actual city in which our school is technically located, though there are a lot of trees between campus and the sprawl of modern architecture.

     We end up in the deserted parking lot of the history museum, stretched across the backseat of Peeta’s Buick, music from the 80’s drifting through the speakers. He only kisses me tonight, his hands in my hair and wrapped around my waist without wandering; tonight we’re satisfied with just this closeness. It winds down instead of getting hotter, and we just lay there listening to a love song somebody wrote before either of us were born, fitted against each other like nothing else really matters.

     We climb out of the car and take a walk along the lamp-lit street, passing closed and darkened storefronts. I stop before a book store that’s still open, pushing inside and dragging Peeta with me. Inside, speakers crackle as somebody reads poetry into a microphone, but Peeta and I don’t take a seat. We slide between the shelves to browse, to steal a few chaste kisses, and to read random lines from random books, whispering so as not to disturb the poets. I buy him a copy of _The Notebook_ because he’s never even seen the movie and gags when I pull it off the shelf.

     As we leave, he holds up the crinkling plastic bag that the book is in and asks, “So you’ve read this?”

     “No.” I laugh and take his hand, looking both ways before crossing the street with him in tow. He follows without protest, joining me on the sidewalk that’s lined with benches and hanging flower pots. There’s a rail along the other side, overlooking the still waters of the river as it reflects the city’s lights. “I’ve seen the movie. With Prim.”

     “Did you even like it?” he implores as I lean on the bar, looking out across the river to see the lights in the windows of Panem’s neighborhoods. I nod—in truth, I do like _The Notebook_. It’s more than just a summer of romance—there’s loss, and there’s arguments, and actual pain. To me, it’s more realistic than people make it out to be. 

     Peeta leans backwards against the rails, watching me. The hand that isn’t holding his bag comes up to pull at my braid, tugging away the hair elastic. He continues to unravel it with his fingers until there’s nothing left to unravel, and then I look at him with a raised eyebrow as if to ask what the hell he did that for.

     “I like it this way,” he says, and that’s the only answer I get.

 *****

On Friday night we go to a frat party because Finn wants to, and Peeta isn’t going to tell him no. Plus, I think he kind of wants to go himself. I watch him carefully the whole time, only permitting him one drink because of what happened at the first party we were at together. I only have two drinks, because I’ve been able to hold my liquor since Gale and started raiding our mother’s alcohol stashes in high school.

     Because of all the noise and beer, I pull Peeta into the second floor bathroom, which has less traffic than the other two. We sit across from each other in the bathtub, tossing a bottle of Axe back and forth and daring each other to take a whiff. My butt gets damp from sitting there like that, but I don’t care.

     “I’m not a party person,” I say for the billionth time, picking up a rubber duck and squeezing it. Water trickles from its beak, leaving spots on my jeans. Peeta smiles.

     “I gathered that.”

     Somebody knocks on the door, and I throw the rubber duck in that direction and tell them to fuck off because we’re busy. Let them think what they want about what Peeta and I are doing in here—I really don’t care.

     “I saw you at one once,” Peeta says. “I was a senior. You were a junior. I drank at that party because I was too much of a wuss to go up and talk to you.”

     “Really?” I ask. He nods. “I went home early.”

     “I know. I saw you leave,” he says. “One of the only times I really drank at a party before college. Explains why I’m such a lightweight, huh?”

     I nod and scoot closer, sitting right in front of him instead of a few more feet away. He leans toward me, kissing my forehead as I look up at him.

     “Peeta,” I say. “You have paint behind your ear, right here.” I touch the spot with my finger.  He shakes his head, signaling to me that it doesn’t matter, and tilts my chin so he can kiss me. He keeps at it, pulling me into his lap and stretching out in the tub. I’m lying on top of him and my elbows bump the sides, but I don’t care because his hand snakes up the back of my shirt and our chests are pressed together.

     I kiss his neck and he sighs out my name.

      “What were you painting?” I ask softly, my lips brushing against his ear as I do. He holds onto me tighter.

     “My muse,” he replies in a low voice, and he finds my mouth with his again, crushing our lips together. I pull back for breath and his eyes flutter open again, locking on mine. His hand cups my face and his next kiss is short and gentle instead of heated.

     “Your muse?” I say breathlessly.

     “Yes,” he says. “ _You._ ”

 *****

When I get my paper back, I sneak a peek at the grade and then hide it in my bag.

     That evening Peeta and I walk back to dormitory twelve after dinner, holding hands. We talk and stuff, but I’m still happy about what I’m hiding. I don’t know exactly when I’ll whip it out and show him, but it won’t be in such a public place, since there will probably be happy dancing and celebratory kissing involved.

     I decide to bring him back to my dorm, texting Finn to tell him that we’re trading roommates tonight. He sends a winky face back and Peeta sees it. He takes my phone to read the conversation, squinting at the screen like he has poor vision when really it’s 20/20. His whole body shakes when he laughs, and since we’re so close, I can feel it.

     “Is that even allowed?” he asks after he’s stopped chuckling. “I mean, me in your dorm and Annie in ours.”

     “This is college, Peeta,” I say. “They don’t have anti-sex policies or matrons roaming the hallways.”

     “Uhm.” Peeta coughs and I think I see his cheeks redden just a little. It isn’t the mention of sex, of course, that gets him. It’s the possibility that we could end up having it. We haven’t actually done it again since our first date, which isn’t a bad thing since we’re still so early on in the relationship. Anyway, there have been other satisfactory activities between now and then.

     I laugh at him and open the door to the building with my free hand. We walk up the stairs with our hands still joined, though conversation has died down a bit. Once we get to my dorm and let ourselves in, we’re not talking at all. I figure that this is as good a time as any to show him my grade and hope he’s as proud of it as I am.

     I put my bag on the bed and start to rummage through it.

     “What are you looking for?” asks Peeta, edging past me to sit down in my desk chair, where he starts to spin like he’s still twelve.

      “A thing,” I answer vaguely, and then I find the cluster of papers that I tucked it in and yank it out. Some of them flutter to the floor or the mattress, but I thumb through the ones that remain in my hand and pluck the stapled bunch of pages out of the mess. I walk over and catch the chair mid-spin and shove the paper in his face.

     He pulls back and takes it from me, his grin spreading. Peeta’s arm wraps around me and he pulls me into his lap, holding up the paper and examining it.

     “A minus,” he says proudly, turning to kiss my cheek. “I knew you had it in you, sweetheart.”

     “Yeah, no, don’t call me sweetheart,” I say. Peeta ignores me and turns in the chair again, laughing. “And I wouldn’t have been able to get that grade if it weren’t for you, so thanks.”

     “Any time,” he replies, and he kisses me on the mouth this time.

     Peeta offers to help me pick up the rest of the papers and suggests that I figure out some sort of organization instead of just shoving them in my bag. I stick my tongue out at him, which is apparently a bad decision on my part because he picks me up and tosses me down onto the bed as if I’m in his way. I laugh, though, which breaks his composure and makes him laugh. Then he’s on the bed with me, kissing up and down the side of my face and taking my hand in his while he holds himself up with the other.

     “Peeta,” I say as he kisses my nose. His eyes are bright as he smiles at me. “College would suck without you.”

     “Would it?” he asks. I nod, and he hauls himself off of me. I sit up and fold my legs, pretzel style.   
     “I wouldn’t know what to do,” I say. “I felt lost that first day, in the midst of all these people I didn’t know…and then you were there talking to me and smiling and I felt…I didn’t feel so alone anymore, you know?”

     “Yeah,” he says, grinning. He gets up and shuffles around the room, pausing before the dresser. There’s a picture sitting there, of Gale and Me on a hay ride when I was about fifteen. Prim carried a camera everywhere for the majority of that year, and that photo’s just one of the many moments she caught on film. I’m smiling and waving at her and the camera, and Gale is plucking pieces of hay from my hair. I kept it because Prim took it, and it was a happy moment, but something about it makes Peeta’s smile waver.

     “What’s wrong?” I ask, standing up on my bed and leaping off the edge. The room is small enough that I land right behind Peeta, stumbling into his back. One of his hands reaches back to catch me, kind of, as the other picks up the framed photo.

     “Gale Hawthorne,” says Peeta. “You guys were friends, right?”

     “He was my best friend,” I reply, peering up over his shoulder. I wrap my arms around his neck and stand on tiptoe. “Was being the key word. He’s not anymore.”

     “Why?” asks Peeta without turning. His body has coiled with tension and he doesn’t move so much, only to speak. I reach to run my fingers through his hair, but he moves his head away and pulls himself out of my embrace. What?

     “He left. And I don’t know, I forgive him for that, but we’ve kind of grown out of each other anyway,” I say with a shrug. What’s with his sudden interest in Gale?

      He looks down at the picture. “I always was jealous of that guy,” he mumbles. “Because, I mean, he got all your attention and I didn’t exist.”

     “What? No. You existed, you always were important,” I assure him. “When you started giving me food behind the bakery. When you cut gum out of my hair on the playground. When you threatened to beat up Cato and his friends because they were all so mean. I _noticed_ you. I just didn’t…you were a football star, homecoming king for two years. You could have any girl you wanted, even me, if you’d just asked.”

     He frowns and hunches his shoulders.

      “You and Gale…you were only friends?”

     I nod. I don’t tell him that there might’ve been something if Gale had stayed. Peeta seems to relax a bit, setting the photo aside and reaching for me instead. He plays with the end of my braid, which has fallen over my shoulder, and I smile at him in the hope that he’ll smile back. He tries, but the result is lopsided and tight-lipped, clearly not genuine.

     “You miss him?” he asks. I nod.

     “A little. I worry about him,” I say. Peeta nods understandingly and continues running his fingers over my plaited hair. “It’s hard not to.”

     “Yeah,” he mutters. “Do you mean it? That I could’ve had you in high school if I’d just…grown some balls?”

     I laugh lightly, despite myself.

     “I wouldn’t put it that way, but maybe. I mean, there’d be hesitation,” I say, and he nods because he knows. The resistance I had to this relationship was nothing compared to how much I would’ve been against it in high school. I was more vulnerable then, more scared. “But if you were persistent…maybe.”

     “Just maybe?” he asks, and I think I see the beginnings of a smile. I kiss him, feeling his lips curl against mine, his jealousy starting to flow out of him. After that, I go for a hug, burying my face in his shirt and breathing him in, clinging onto him as if for dear life. Peeta holds me close against him, just as lost in me as I am in him.

     No, lost isn’t the word for it. I don’t know how to define it just yet, the feeling I have when I’m wrapped in Peeta’s arms, but I’m anything but lost.

 *****

That weekend I spend more time at his house than mine, which has its advantages. The food there is better, for one. And I like burying myself in Peeta’s blankets, and falling asleep next to him, our legs bumping together in the night. I like waking up to his soft snoring and nudging him awake with my cold feet. On Sunday morning it takes extra nudging and poking and prodding before Peeta stirs and opens his eyes, squinting in the sunlight that streams across his face. He smiles at me, bringing one hand up to brush a strand of hair out of my eyes. He still looks sleepy, which is to be expected, with his eyes only half-open and his curls in disarray. They’ve grown some since September, and I’ve told him he ought to cut his hair just a bit so it’s manageable.

      To which he said he’d think about it.

     Peeta’s eyelids droop again, and I kick him under the covers. “No,” I say, shaking his shoulders. “Time to wake up. No more sleeping.”

     He groans and pulls me toward him, mumbling incomprehensibly as he buries his face in his pillow. The message is clear: he’s still tired. I squirm and protest, but Peeta only lifts his head slightly and looks at me. When I give him a stern look, he just shakes his head and drags me closer, tucking his head between my neck and shoulder.

     “I’m not a pillow,” I say, wriggling away and getting to my feet, pulling the top sheet with me and wrapping it around myself. I take one of Peeta’s shirts to wear to the bathroom, buttoning it up almost all the way before heading down the stairs. I figure that Peeta is going to fall asleep again in my absence, but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Right now I just need a shower.

     I peer around the door and, finding the hallway empty, I head for the bathroom.  Downstairs, I can hear Mr. Mellark cooking and Walden’s sardonic read-aloud of the morning paper. He does this, apparently, since the small town headlines are often so trivial that he can’t resist mocking them. I slip into the bathroom and shut the door behind me, shrugging out of Peeta’s shirt and turning the shower on. I’ve gotten used to showering in the big communal dorm bathroom, as long as I avert my eyes from the general nudity that happens. But there are only other girls there, and now, as I step into the Mellark shower, it occurs to me that this is nearly the opposite.

     I’m in a house full of men. Men’s body wash and shit line the shower shelves, unlabeled and jumbled together. I attempt some organization, and I’m glad to find that they’ve at least color coded their washcloths and scrubs. My drenched hair clings to my skin and the warm water turns to steam around me. I don’t know what to use or what to do, the only thing I can think of is to smell the products to try and figure out what belongs to Peeta.

     This was a bad call on my part. I should’ve just gone home to shower.

     Then the bathroom door opens and I shriek, backing  up into the shelves and knocking over several bottles. They clatter to the shower floor and one of them lands on my foot, which kind of hurts. I shout several colorful expletives and scold myself for not locking the fucking door.

     “Katniss,” Peeta says over the sound of the running water. I can tell he’s fighting not to laugh. “ _Relax_. It’s just me.”

      “Damn you, Peeta!” I shout at him from behind the curtain. I hurry to pick up all the bottles I knocked over. “You scared the shit out of me.”

     “Sorry,” he says, closing the door. “I should’ve knocked.”

     “Yes, yes you should have.”

     Peeta laughs and tugs on the curtain, peering around the side. I instinctively cover myself with my arms and glare at him, which makes him smile.

     “Can I join you?” he asks. I scowl.

     “No.”

     “Please?” Peeta makes what he thinks is a puppy-dog face of sorts, though really it just looks silly. If anything is going to persuade me, it’s a sleepy smile and the bedhead that he’s already trying to smooth down. When I don’t answer, Peeta just decides to do it anyway, and I hear his pants hit the bathroom floor.

     “ _Peeta_ ,” I groan when he jumps into the shower with me. I stare at the ceiling and the walls and the body wash, but I refuse to look at him. The fact that we’re both stark naked makes me mildly uncomfortable, but I’m not going to rudely kick him out. He asked nicely and he needs showering just as much as I do. “Ugh.”

     “Katniss,” he chuckles. “It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before.”

      “In the dark. Under covers. Asleep,” I say. “Not in the shower. It’s different.”

      “I don’t see how it’s different,” he says, still laughing at me. I go to flip him off, but then realize that to do that, I have to move one of my hands away from the place it covers. He recognizes my internal struggle and laughs harder. “God, you’re hilarious.”

     I finally look at his face, which is plastered with an impish grin. I huff and turn my back to him, asking sharply which of this crap is his so I can get out of here already. It only makes him laugh harder, and he reaches around me for one of the fuller bottles of generic shower gel. He shows me the shampoo as well, and I thank him tersely and start to actually do what I came here to do. It’s hard to ignore him though, because he takes up so much space behind me and is obviously staring at my butt.

      “Oh my God, stop,” I say, but I feel my lips twitching into a smile as I glance over my shoulder at him.

     Once I’m finished, I get out and grab a towel while Peeta stays in to wash up on his own. Before heading back upstairs to get dressed, I draw a smiley face with my finger on the foggy mirror, hoping it’s still there for him to find when he gets out.

 *****

It’s Wednesday when he tells me. Technically almost Thursday, the bedside table clock ticking away towards midnight. Earlier, Annie dragged me down here and traded me for Finn—apparently we can do that whenever we please now, without even consulting the person being traded. Not that I minded; the only problem with it was that while Finn and Annie probably fit together fine on the narrow dormitory mattresses, Peeta and I don’t. He’s too broad and I move around too much in my sleep, which we discovered the hard way the night I showed him my paper.

     So we sleep on the floor. As soon as Annie left, Peeta dragged nearly everything but his dinosaur sheets off of his bed and spread it all out on the floor. He had extra blankets tucked away somewhere, so we use some of those as padding and covers. We studied a while before actually settling down, and then we just lay there, whispering to one another in the dark.

     Eventually my eyes drift closed of their own volition, though I’m still aware of everything from Peeta’s steady breathing to the nighttime sounds outside the window, filtering in through the screen. I’m still conscious of it when he reaches up to brush hair out of my face and leans over to kiss my forehead. I still hear it when he rustles the covers on his way back to his side of the makeshift bed, and what he whispers before falling asleep still reaches my ears.

     “ _I love you_ ,” he says. And then he’s down for the count.

     The next morning I pretend I didn’t hear, pretend I was entirely asleep. We get up and eat week old granola bars and answer the door when Finn knocks. I head back to my room and get ready for the day and avoid thinking about much of anything. I go to class and take notes and try so hard to not pay attention to the nagging memory of Peeta’s words.

     Because I don’t know if I love him.

     Love, for all its four letters, is a big word. I know that love can be destruction, but it can also be salvation. I know that love can be between family members or friends and you can say you love cheeseburgers and pizza without it meaning so much as it means when you tell a person you love them. Love means nothing and everything all at once.

     Do I love Peeta? I think I love his eyes and how they light up like they’re stealing stars from the sky. I might love the way he smiles and the way he laughs, and I maybe love that he has paint or flour on his face more often than stubble. Perhaps the way his hands feel, or the way he says my name, or that whenever he’s in the car he plays with the radio.  I might just love all the things I’ve liked, from the way he blushes to how it feels to fall asleep next to him and be the one to wake him in the morning. I could say that I love those things, but does that mean I love him?

     I think it does. How could I love so much of what he is and not love him as a whole?

     The real question is whether or not I’m ready for it. Because love, for all its four letters, is the biggest word I know.


	11. Chapter 11

The dining hall, as always, is bustling. Every voice adds to the dull roar, and only sometimes can you actually eavesdrop on the people nearby because they’re practically shouting. But it isn’t that loud, that you must shout to be heard, because my whole table is able to speak at a normal volume and be understood. Johanna has joined us tonight, between Finn and Peeta, and she rocks on the back legs of her chair so treacherously that I think she’ll topple over. Today she wears severely ripped jeans, a white shirt that’s been splattered with red paint, and her trademark cropped leather jacket. She’s bleached the tips of her hair and pulled it back, looking less vibrantly colorful than she is most weeks. I don’t see Johanna much, but every week her hair is different.

     I discover over the course of dinner that Johanna is the type of person who cracks inappropriate jokes that you can’t help but laugh at. She also seems to wave her butter knife around as she speaks, but only that particular utensil, and she’s nowhere near as animated when it isn’t in her hand. She is sharp, in her wit and otherwise, and she is one of the more abrasive people I’ve met, but my friends are all friends with her so I figure she has a good heart under all the theatrics.

     “Hey. Mermaid boy,” says Johanna to Finn, jabbing her knife in his direction. “When did you want help with that thing?”

     “What thing do you speak of?” he asks pleasantly, and then takes a bite of a baby carrot.

     She narrows her eyes. “Operation something or other. You know I don’t care for your fucking code names and secrecy bullshit.”

     “You don’t care for anything. Your heart is stone,” says Finn. He’s obviously not serious, but Johanna just glares at him. “And perhaps you mean Operation _Blue Lagoon_?”        

     “That sounds like the name of a bar,” I put in. Peeta chuckles.

     “Probably. I’m sure some town somewhere has a bar called the Blue Lagoon,” he says, reaching to take pizza crusts off of my plate. “But the operation in question has nothing to do with alcohol, really. It’s more along the lines of—”

     “If you tell her, Mellark, then you will have to kill her,” Finn interrupts. Peeta attempts a serious nod of understanding, but he ends up emitting a closed-mouth laugh at a strangely high pitch for him. Finn smirks at him and turns to Johanna. “And to answer your question, I was thinking sometime very soon. Maybe tonight?”

     Peeta leans back in his chair and gnaws on my crusts, and I nudge him and give him a look that I think conveys my confusion. He smiles at me and leans in, and I hope he’s going to tell me what this Blue Lagoon shit actually means because I don’t like being clueless at all. But the second he opens his mouth, Finn spots him and throws a carrot at his head. Peeta fumbles to catch it.

     “My reflexes have gone to shit,” he mutters. I glare at Finn from across the table, and he shrugs, and the conversation shifts again. The topic of Operation Blue Lagoon vanishes just as quickly as it came up, leaving me disappointed that I never got to learn what it was. Literally all I know is that it’ll be tonight and that Finn needs Johanna’s help.

     When Peeta walks me back to my dorm, I ask again what it is, but to no avail. He seems determined to keep it under wraps. I pester him nearly half of the way before I realize that no matter how much I ask, he’s just going to keep that knowing smile on his face. I’m not going to get anything out of him. Which sucks.

     At my door, he kisses me and says, “See you later.”

     “When? Like tomorrow or…later tonight?” I inquire. Peeta laughs and nods.

      “Later tonight. Don’t worry,” he says, leaning in for another parting kiss. “It won’t be that bad, I promise. Now get some sleep—we’ll come get you and Annie around midnight. Finn has told her what to bring, so you don’t have to worry about anything.”

     “Peeta,” I say. “I don’t like surprises. Just tell me.”

     “You might not like surprises,” Peeta counters, tugging on my braid. “But I like surprising you. So…I guess you’ll just have to be surprised.”

     With that, he heads down the hallway towards the stairs. I shout rude things at his retreating form, but Peeta just laughs and looks behind him, waving as he turns the corner and ducks out of view.

 *****

As expected, sleep does not come so easily. My mind is too occupied by whatever the hell Blue Lagoon is to settle down enough for sleeping. I end up lying there with my eyes closed for a long time, and then I finally drift off for what feels like only a few minutes before they knock.

     It’s not Peeta knocking, it’s Finn, because Peeta never pounds so hard on the door. Especially not when the rest of the students on my floor are so soundly asleep. Okay, not really, since I can definitely hear someone watching Harry Potter next door. I recognize the theme music. Anyway, I don’t move, choosing instead to listen to Annie as she gets up and shuffles toward the door. She opens it, greeting them warmly as always, and then the room is flooded with light.

     I groan and burrow under the covers. I’m awake, but I feel as if I’ll burn under the brightness. I hear Finn laughing and Annie trying to coax me out of bed with gentle hands, but I don’t budge. I know that I’ll have to get up eventually, but I feel as if I should give them as much trouble as possible for refusing to tell me what Finn has planned for this evening.

     Someone tugs on my covers, pulling them away.

     “You do know that it isn’t midnight yet, right?” I ask, gesturing towards the clock. It reads 11:42, which is very close to midnight, admittedly, but twenty more minutes of sleep would’ve been nice.

     “Did I say midnight?” Peeta replies as I squint up at him. “I meant eleven-forty. We’re two minutes late.” He shrugs his shoulders and smiles down at me. “Traffic.”

     “Oh, I’ll bet the staircases were _overflowing_.”

     “Yeah,” he says. “Now come on. Johanna Mason is many things, but patient is not one of them. Annie,” Peeta turns to my roommate. “You packed a bag?”

     “Of course,” she says, and holds up the quilted tote bag that her grandmother made. “Everything we’ll need is in here.”

     I sit up in bed and rub my eyes, and Peeta crosses his arms and looks disapproving. “Hey,” I say, admonishing, “Give me a minute, all right? Do I need to wear something specific?”

     “What you have on is fine,” says Peeta. Annie throws a few more things into her bag and disappears into the hallway. I look down at myself. I’m wearing one of his t-shirts and the bottom half of a patterned pajama set that Prim bought for me. “Nice pants, by the way,” he adds. “Moo.”

     “Shut up,” I grumble. I don’t feel like changing, so the cow spotted jammies will have to do. I get out of bed and throw on a pair of flip-flops before heading out the door. Peeta shuts off the lights and closes the door behind him, and then he sidles up to me and reaches for my hand. I look at him sleepily, and he grasps my hand tighter as if to wake me up more. I squeeze his fingers lightly and briefly, which encourages him to walk closer. Finn and Annie are waiting for us by the stairs.

     “You woke the dragon,” says Finn, thumping Peeta on the back as if to congratulate him. “Sir Peeta is the noblest of knights to have achieved such a task.”

     “I strongly advise you not to anger the dragon,” I mutter. I look at Finn closely, narrowing my eyes. “You’re wearing swim trunks. Why are you wearing swim trunks?”

     Finn smirks and adjusts the towel that’s draped over his shoulder. I look at Peeta, who I now realize is also wearing his swimwear and has a towel under his other arm. He smiles sheepishly and lets go of my hand in order to massage the back of his neck. He runs his hand through his hair and shifts his weight.

     Now more than ever I desperately need to know what Operation Blue Lagoon is.

     “Where are we going, Peeta?” I ask sharply. He looks like a deer caught in the headlights, the oncoming car symbolizing an angry girlfriend. I glare at him, and at Finn, who isn’t so smiley anymore.

     “It’s okay,” Annie says with attempted cheerfulness. “I’ve packed your bathing suit too. I promise it’ll be fun, Katniss.”

     I relax slightly and allow Peeta to take my hand again and lead me down the stairs. We start walking through the courtyard and beyond, towards the cluster of buildings where all the classes are held. This area is lit at night too, but the solar lights are on posts instead of just stuck into the ground. It’s arranged like a town or something, with a paved road winding through and sidewalks along it, the lamps situated every ten feet or so. I’ve given up on asking questions and spend the whole walk with my lips pursed and an unfortunate frown on my face. The fact that I’ve had to get up, mixed with the frustration of not knowing, has put me in a very sour mood.

     The athletic building is gigantic. It has a whole lot of stuff in it, from the indoor track to the rock climbing wall and the little ballet studio tucked in the back. I have a fitness class here every other Wednesday, and Finn is a frequent visitor because he’s a hydrophile and can’t get enough of the swimming pool. As we walk around the back, it occurs to me that the pool must be our destination.

     And Johanna is here to help us break into the building. Truly, there aren’t much people around to see us, and when I draw attention to the possibility of getting caught nobody seems very concerned. Apparently Finn has done this before with his swim team buddies, and even if somebody did know about it they turned a blind eye because Finn was the star of the team even as a freshman. The man is practically a fish.

     Johanna brought all the supplies she needs, and she gets us in easily. As the five of us walk along the halls of the athletic building, my flip-flops slap against the tile in a way that makes me wince continuously. Peeta notices, of course, and holds on to my hand firmly, but not tightly so that it feels like he’s crushing my fingers. We depart at the locker rooms, where Annie, Johanna, and I have to change into our swimsuits.

     I wrap myself in a towel before going back out. Finn has the means of entry into the pool—a special card that gives him unlimited access. He slides it through the reader and a little light turns green before he pulls the glass door open. We file into the slightly darkened room, and Finn walks around turning things on and whatnot. The pool lights begin to glow and the massive ceiling fans twirl overhead. Johanna makes a beeline toward the hot tub, and Annie jumps right into the deep end. When she comes up, she flings her hair back and grins at Peeta and me.

     “The water’s great,” she says. “Perfect.”

     “Yeah,” I say blandly. “I’ll bet it’s freezing.”

     Finn comes up behind us quietly, but I can tell because of the way Annie’s eyes flick towards him for a second. Peeta steps away from me and loosens his grip, then pulls away completely. I turn to look at him, puzzled, and then it hits me. Finn, knowing full well that I can swim, pushes me forward. I stumble and regain my balance right at the edge, but my towel falls in the process. It tangles around my feet and I end up toppling forward again, landing nearly face-first in the water. Luckily, it’s deep so I don’t hit the bottom and die.

     “You asshole,” I growl at Finn as I come back up. The back of my throat burns.

     “Are you okay?” asks Peeta. I look to him and nod, flip Finn off, and then sink back underwater. I swim over to Annie, who just smiles sympathetically. The lyrics written on her arms have been blurred by the water, but I can still read them: _With eyes like the summer, all beauty and truth._

     Peeta walks around the side of the pool and uses the steps to get in. He kind of just stands there for a moment.  Our end of the pool is just open water, the deepest part of it being about seven or eight feet. Annie and I are more around the six foot marker, but Peeta prefers the shallower end, and I understand. He’s only just learning how to swim. The other side of the pool consists of the lanes for competitive swimming, which are separated from one another by red and white floating divider lines. I swim leisurely over to where Peeta is and stand in front of him.

     “Hi,” I say. He laughs.

     “Hi, Katniss,” he says and reaches to touch my face. I smile. “I like the swimsuit.”

     It’s just a polka-dotted one-piece with a halter neckline, but I guess it shows off some of my body’s good points. I shrug. Peeta leans in to kiss me, but I pull back and splash him. He pretends to look shocked before splashing me back. I bolt, and he chases me as far as the five foot line, where I turn back and head back toward the shallower side. But Peeta intercepts me, wrapping an arm around my waist. I squeal as he lifts me up out of the water and pulls me back down, drawing me closer to his body.

     “Let me go!” I yell. Peeta laughs, and his entire torso shakes. “ _Peeta_.”

     “If you kiss me, I’ll let go,” he says. I twist my head around to glare up at him, and he loosens his arms so I can turn around to face him. Finn jumps into the pool and swims up to Annie, and they both stand there watching with grins on their faces, their hands laced together underwater. I struggle against Peeta’s grip, knowing that I’ll be successful but determined to try anyway.

     “Oh, fine,” I grumble after a while, and I pull him down for a quick kiss on the mouth. “Is that good enough for you?”

     He smiles and tugs on my braid before releasing me.

     We all splash around in the pool for a good hour or two. Johanna joins us once or twice before retreating back to the hot tub alone. Finn gets in some practice in the lanes, and Annie races against him just for fun. Of course, she loses, and he brags good-naturedly for a while. Peeta doesn’t really venture beyond the five foot line, seeing as six feet is an inch or two over his head and that’s too deep for his tastes. It’s nearly three in the morning when we all get out and wrap ourselves in towels. Us girls change into our dry clothes again and the boys towel off as well as they can, but we’re all cold when we walk back towards the dorms. It’s November, and the air is a lot chillier at night, especially when you’re soaked.

     Finn offers another roommate trade, and I accept because I’m not going to deny Finn and Annie a night together. And I certainly don’t mind keeping Peeta for a little while longer. We drop Johanna off at building seven, and back at dormitory twelve we stop on the second floor. Peeta ducks into his room to grab some clean and dry clothes before joining me again.

     We get there and haul everything off of my bed, piling it up on the floor. Once I’m finished arranging it all, Peeta pulls me in and kisses me.

      Before we go to bed, Peeta trades his swim trunks for boxers. I lay with my back to him and he wraps an arm around my middle, like spooning but not as close. It’s some time before I hear him begin to snore softly, and moments later I’m lulled to sleep by the sound of Peeta’s breath.

 *****

Saturday morning arrives with a crack of thunder. It’s raining hard outside and I can smell it through the window screen as I get up to close it. Just in case the rain decides to slant sideways and get my carpet wet. Peeta stirs but doesn’t wake up, but I figure it’s just a matter of time before he does, when he stops feeling the breeze from outside.

     I settle back beside him and watch him as he drifts back into consciousness. First his nose wrinkles and he closes his eyes tightly, so the skin around them crinkles a bit. He rolls over onto his back before opening them, staring up at the ceiling. I reach over and smooth down some of his curls, and he turns to look at me, smiling sleepily.

     “Morning,” he mumbles, and I smile back.

      “Good morning,” I say, and I give him a quick little kiss. “What’s the plan for today? I could go for ice cream. And homework. I have homework to do.”

     “Hmm. I could go for ice cream and homework,” he says, looping an arm around my waist. “And I need to go home and do laundry. I don’t have to work today, but we could stop for some cheese buns for breakfast…” Peeta cranes his neck to look at the clock. “Or maybe more like brunch. Thank God it’s Saturday or I’d be late for class.”

     I snuggle up to him and close my eyes. “Let’s be late for brunch, too,” I say into his chest. “I don’t want to get up.”

     “That also sounds like a good idea,” he says, drawing me closer and holding me tightly. “I don’t think there’s anything better than being in the arms of someone you care for.”

      “Cheese buns are better,” I say, looking up at him. “But this is a close second.” 

     Peeta laughs and leans in, his eyes sparkling as the tips of our noses touch. He looks so happy and fulfilled and I realize that I’d give almost anything for him to always be so content. He reaches up and slides his hand over my braid, brushing away some of the wayward hairs that strayed free overnight. He watches his fingers as he does it, and doesn’t notice how I watch him. I feel like I could watch his face forever without getting tired of it—I could trace the lines of his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, see the wrinkles that form around his eyes when he smiles wide enough. Over time he’ll develop laugh lines and age spots, and his thick blond curls will thin out and go white. But I’m positive that even after sixty more years have passed him by, his eyes will be just as bright and his grin just as wide.

     “Katniss…”

     “Yeah?” I ask, my voice soft and breathy.

     “You’re staring,” he says, chuckling.

     “Well, it’s because you’re pretty.”

     Peeta laughs and shakes his head at me, then closes his eyes and leans in for a kiss. I kiss him, wrapping my arms around him. When I pull away, I tuck my head under his chin and breath in the smell of chlorine that still clings to his skin. There’s also something distinctly Peeta about his scent, of course, and general body odor. It’s not the best smell ever, but I don’t move, because even though he smells like sweat and swimming pool, I like the way it feels to be so close to him.

     Eventually, we get up and get dressed and start the day at ten AM. Peeta drives us to Collins Village, both of our laundry bags taking up the backseat and bumping into each other when the car turns. Once we reach town square, we swing by the bakery to get those cheese buns he promised. The bell jingles when we walk in, and Walden looks up from some sort of catalog he’s thumbing through.

      “If it isn’t my baby brother,” he says. “What brings you here?”

     “Cheese buns. Do we have any?” asks Peeta, peering through the glass case. Walden shakes his head and Peeta mutters a curse. “Well, is Dad in the back? Because I need some.”

     “ _Peeta_ ,” I say, because we hardly need them. If they’re gone, they’re gone.

     “He put in another batch,” says Walden reassuringly. “They should be done soon enough. Your girlfriend won’t die from waiting.”

     “Ugh,” I grumble, and Walden smirks. Without another word, Peeta lets go of my hand to round the counter and slip through the big metal door that leads to the kitchen. I hear his father greet him cheerfully and rather loudly. His brother leans his elbows on his catalog and continues to smirk at me. As boring as Walden seems, he’s actually funny sometimes, and we have a lot of staring contests these days. I blink first.

     “Good try, Katniss,” he says, smiling. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him smile before, and the moment doesn’t last very long. His face quickly reverts back to its usual emotionless mask, but of course his ever-thoughtful eyes betray him. “Hey, Katniss…” Walden glances behind him at the kitchen door and looks back to me. “My brother…he loves you, you know. I don’t know if he’s said it, but he does. He has for a long time.”

     I blink at him, startled by his sudden urge to bring up my relationship with Peeta. And the ever-present four letter word that I can’t seem to escape.

     “What I’m saying is…try not to hurt him too bad, okay?”

     “Why is it that someone has to get hurt?” I ask. “And why does it have to be him? Who knows, maybe I’ll be the one getting the heartbreak.”

     Walden shakes his head. “No,” he says. “Trust me. Peeta doesn’t break hearts—didn’t you know? He dated in high school, but never had an actual relationship. He was always waiting for you.”

     Peeta emerges then, wearing an oven mitt and carrying a tray of steaming cheese buns. He slides them under the warming light in the glass case, removing the empty tray and letting it  clatter on the countertop. He grins at me.

     “Did you miss me?” he asks.

     “No,” I say. “In your absence, I’ve fallen in love with your brother. We’re thinking perhaps a spring wedding. You can do the cake.”

     Peeta laughs and elbows Walden in the ribs. Walden retaliates by wrapping an arm around his neck and digging his knuckles into the top of Peeta’s head. Walden laughs shortly as he releases his younger brother, and then they glare at each other for a moment before smiling again and shaking hands.

     “She’s all yours,” says Walden, looking at me.

     Peeta collects several of the piping hot cheese buns and we head to his house, where we immediately go downstairs to start the laundry. The basement has uncovered light bulbs and half-painted walls, since the project of properly finishing the basement was put on hold when Peeta’s dad filed for divorce, since the whole thing was his mother’s idea anyway. We sit shoulder to shoulder in the cluttered laundry room and watch the clothes and water spin in the machine, eating cheese buns and talking about nothing of consequence. It’s just one of those little conversations that you have with the people closest to you, the ones that wander and change, the ones that hardly make sense if you’re not there the whole time. It’s the kind of conversation that can only bloom from being completely comfortable with the person beside you.

     And even when it’s quiet, it’s okay, because it’s the best kind of quiet.

     But all silence breaks, eventually. There’s too much noise in the world, too many words and thoughts and magnificent sound for something as fragile as silence to survive very long.

     “Katniss,” says Peeta, staring ahead at the spinning washer. I turn to look at him, but he doesn’t make eye contact. “Is this real?”

      “What?” I ask, perplexed. He exhales deeply and shifts his legs so that the opposite knee points at the ceiling and the opposite leg stretches out beside mine.

     “When you imagine being in love, you don’t really picture it as sitting in a laundry room, watching the spin cycle,” he says. “I thought candlelit dinners and backseat make out sessions, but I never would’ve imagined this. But it’s better than all that I expected, because it’s real…and I wanted to make sure that it was, and that I’m not just having a really elaborate dream.”

    “Hm.” I shake out my arms. “Real. Definitely.”

     “Good,” says Peeta, smiling and turning to look at me. His eyes are thoughtful though, unsure, as if he’s trying to make the decision of his life. He lifts one hand to brush hair out of my face and lightly taps the tip of my nose. “Katniss…I am so in love with you. I love you. I’ve always loved you to some degree, but now I love you more than I ever have.”

     I feel my eyes widen. It’s not unexpected—I already knew that he loved me. But the way he said it, so carefully and yet so quickly…it catches me off guard. I don’t know what to say. I mean, there’s the obvious thing, the response that should be instant…but I don’t know if I’m ready to say it. It’s not as if I’m afraid to love him, because I’m sure that I do, but I’m afraid to say it out loud.  

     If I say I love him, it all means so much more. I feel like saying I love him will ultimately determine that I’ll lose him. Like the Fates will think, “ _Katniss has found love? Oh, no, we can’t have that,”_ and then they’ll find a way to take him away from me. I learned the hard way that sometimes, loving somebody isn’t enough to keep them by your side…it just makes the pain harder to bear when they’re gone.

     He looks at me so expectantly, so hopefully, but I shake my head and pull away. I can’t do it. I’m not ready.

     “Oh,” says Peeta, quite sadly.

     “I…I’m sorry…I…”

     “No, it’s all right. I don’t know why I expected…” he trails off and shrugs his shoulders. “As long as you feel something. You do, don’t you?”

     I’m speechless.

     “Katniss?” he asks, his voice an octave higher. He’s concerned. He’s afraid that I don’t feel anything, and his fear just feeds the growing guilt inside me. I bury my face in my hands, thinking to myself that I’ve done nothing wrong. “Katniss, you feel something. You have to.”

    “I do,” I say, my voice muffled by my clammy palms.

     “But you don’t love me?”

     I am not prepared for this. He sounds miserable, like he’s already accepted that the answer will be that I don’t. I think back to what Walden said, about hurting him, and I think that saying no to him will only hurt him.

     So I say, with a trembling voice, “I love you.”

     It’s true, but he doesn’t believe it. His face changes to a grimace, his sadness morphs into frustration. Frustration that I haven’t been truthful, frustration that I gave him the answer he wanted when he expected something else.

     “Don’t lie.  Don’t say things you don’t mean,” he says sharply, hauling himself to his feet. “Say you don’t love me, I can take it, but don’t give me false hope. If you lie to me now, how am I supposed to trust that anything else you said was the truth?”

     “What?” I sputter, startled by his outburst. “Why would I lie to you?”

     “To make me happy. I don’t want you to be with me because you want me to be happy,” he says. “I want you to be with me because it makes you happy. I want it to be real. That’s all I’ve ever wanted from you, but if you’ve given me a lie…”

     “Fuck you,” I snap, suddenly fuming. “You should damn well know by now how bad I am with feelings, how bad I am with words. If you want the truth, Peeta, I’ll tell you the fucking truth: _I love you_. I love you, and it scares me to death—excuse me if I don’t know how to tell you that.”

     He freezes, opening his mouth to speak again, but I shake my head. I’m already crying, and if he speaks, he’ll make it worse. Even after that, I feel like he doesn’t believe me. What do I have to do to make him believe me?

     I leave without my laundry, trudging home through a very light rain. This morning it was pouring, but now it’s just a drizzle, falling at about the same speed as my tears. I’m halfway to my house when my phone rings in my pocket, but I know it’s him and I don’t pick up.

     At one point I felt like I could go to Peeta with any problem I had, whether it be Glimmer’s nasty looks or an assignment I’m stressing over—I felt like he could fix anything. But now, when the problem is all about him, all about how terrified I am to properly love him, he can’t help me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs: 
> 
> Someday You Will Be Loved, by Death Cab for Cutie


	12. Chapter 12

One morning when I was about seven years old, I walked up to my father and asked him if true love was a real thing. I still remember the half-amused look on his face and the way the grass poked between my bare toes, and how I could hear Prim running around the house screaming about Tinkerbell and driving my mother wild. She was Mommy then, Mommy the beautiful goddess, Mommy who braided our hair with flowers and blushed whenever Daddy asked her to sing with him.

     I’d seen every Disney movie and watched characters fall in love, and for a while that seemed real enough. But I’d eventually realized that animals don’t talk and there isn’t such a thing as Neverland, so of course I’d question the existence of true love as well. And when I asked, Daddy smiled and stopped pulling weeds, sitting back on the grass. He looked up at me, the sun beating down on his face…to this day, that’s the image I like to keep of him, because truthfully he looked like he could compete for happiest man in the world.

     “Yes,” he said. “There is such a thing. But you don’t have one true love, my princess, not like all the stories say. True love is any love that’s so deep and real that you’d give up anything to keep it. True love isn’t always honest, and it isn’t always kind, but it’s…it’s real. It’s care, it’s devotion, and it isn’t just between princes and princesses or mommies and daddies. It’s any love for anything that you feel with all your heart…all your heart and all your lungs and all your stomach.” He tickled my belly then, and I laughed, collapsing on the ground beside him.

     “You love Mommy like that?” I asked in my little voice, so hopeful and innocent. He nodded.

     “Yes. And you and Prim—our family, our home, and music. Those are my true loves. Because I love them with everything I have,” he said. “That’s true love, and it’s very real.”

     My father was a dreamer, a romantic, but he was the smartest man in the world when I was seven years old. And now, over a decade has passed since that day, and it’s still hard to dispute his wisdom. Dad died months before his thirteenth wedding anniversary, and though it was horribly tragic and unexpected…at least he’d had this life. Once he told my mother that he had no regrets, that despite sacrificing fame and glory, he’d found a love that was more important—family.

     I’ve never thought so much about the life I really want to have. When I was little I wanted to be like Mulan because of course, Mulan is a badass. But by the time I outgrew that, I couldn’t really think up another dream—all I wanted was to have my Daddy back, or at the very least, to take care of what I had left. Since then, Prim has been my everything. I watched her grow up from the sweetest little girl to the sweetest young woman in the world, and I provided for her as I could, especially when my mother couldn’t. Despite her being old enough that she hardly needs me anymore, I know that I will always be there for her.

     But Prim can’t be the center of my entire life. No, that has to be me.

     It’s a realization that doesn’t come easily. I’ve been living for someone else since I was eleven years old, and it’s not a bad thing…it’s just not particularly good. Going to college has removed me from my role as caretaker; and I can’t always be there to serve dinner or help her with difficult homework. I can’t braid her hair in the morning or sing her to sleep like I always did when we were kids. In September, being away from her so much was like a physical ache…but it’s been lessened since then.

     I have real friends, for once. I have classes to go to and parties to attend, and I have no idea what the future holds or even what I want it to hold. I’ve fallen in love. And now, I think, it’s all for me. That’s how it needs to be.

     I love Peeta, and I need to tell him. Well, I told him already, rather forcefully, but I think I need a redo. And this time I’ll do it right.

    *****

     My mother comes home to find me eating ice cream on the couch. Prim is at a birthday party, and she won’t return for another hour or so. I thought I would be alone for a while, but then she walks in in her wrinkled scrubs, dumping a bag on the floor near the door and heading towards the kitchen. I hear her making herself a cup of tea—my mother hates coffee—and then she must realize that she walked right past me, because she retraces her steps and stands in the doorway.

     “Katniss,” she says, trying to stifle her inevitable surprise. She hasn’t seen me in weeks, because despite the fact that I do come home, I make a point not to run into her.

     “Yep,” I say, spooning out a chunk of ice cream that has a piece of brownie in it. I eat it and continue gazing at the television. I’m watching Mulan, and it makes a good comfort movie since it’s riddled with hidden bits of wisdom among jokes and fight scenes. The training sequence comes on, and I start to hum along around mouthfuls of ice cream. _Did they send me daughters when I asked for sons?_

     “You always loved this movie,” she says, venturing forward and settling in the armchair nearby. I cast a sidelong glance in her direction, but otherwise I don’t acknowledge her. “Sometimes you’d walk up to your dad and ask him if he had all the force of a great typhoon because otherwise he wasn’t allowed to be a man.”

     “Did I? Hm. Don’t remember that.”

     “I do,” she says. _Obviously_ , I want to say, but I just mumble the words of the song. My mother adjusts herself in the chair and eyes my tub of ice cream. She takes in my curled up position and perhaps the fading redness of my eyes, and she must understand what all this means. I haven’t told her much about my life since I was young, so she receives information from Prim—it was Prim who told her when I was going somewhere, when I was staying after school to make up late work, and it was Prim who told her when I scored somewhat well on placement tests. It was Prim who told her where I was applying and where I was accepted and where I was going. Surely, it was also Prim who told her about what was going on between me and Peeta.

     She’s going to ask what happened, I know it. She has to, she’s my mother.

     “Did you have a falling out with the Mellark boy?” she asks, carefully so as not to set me off. When talking to me, my mother has grown more and more cautious. She doesn’t know what I’ll do or how I’ll react to anything, because she doesn’t know me anymore. She doesn’t know her own daughter, but only part of it is her fault—it was her who lost my trust. The rest is on me, because it was me who held the grudge and separated myself from her, and it was me who lost faith in her ability to properly care for us.

     “It doesn’t matter,” I say to her, but I don’t turn my head. “It’ll get resolved soon enough. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.”

     “You always have been.” This time, I do look over at her, my eyes questioning. My mother smiles ever-so-slightly and continues, “I know, Katniss, I wasn’t there when you needed me, all those years ago…but you haven’t needed me since.” 

      “Was it worth it?” I ask. “Loving Dad only to lose him so abruptly?”

      The question is uncalled for, but I want to know. It’s relevant to my situation, to my inner-debate on whether or not the bliss of love is even worth the pain that inevitably comes later. Because nothing lasts…even if you stay together, death will separate you in the end. Whether it’s sooner or later is undetermined, but it happens, and it will hurt.

     She nods, and I think that I knew she would. I think that I must’ve known the true love my father believed in was real, and that it was worth what came after. True love—when you give as much love as you possibly can and you don’t think about the ending. No matter the ending, it’s worth it, it has to be.

     Then my mother gets up and walks away to retrieve her tea, and the moment is broken. In that moment though, I felt closer to her than I have in a very long time.

 *****

When Prim gets home, I pull a bag of chocolate chips from the pantry and toss it in her direction. She fumbles to catch it and she does, but just barely. It slides to the ground with a soft thump, slouching against her feet and looking dejected. Prim scoops it back up and puts it on the counter.

     “What are these for?” she asks.

     “They are a key ingredient in chocolate chip cookies,” I say. Prim looks dubious.

     “You’re baking cookies?” She fiddles with the bag and the chips inside shift, tumbling against each other like a giant chocolate mosh pit or something. I don’t know, I’ve never actually been to a concert, much less a mosh pit. “Why?”

      “Apology cookies,” I say with a sigh, digging through the cupboards for all the materials I’ll need. The last time I baked a batch of cookies was for Prim’s birthday last year, and I really fucked up—they burned to a crisp. I don’t even know what they tasted like. “Peeta and I had a disagreement, but I’m going to give him cookies and tell him I love him and it’ll be fine.”

      It sounds almost childish to say it, but it’s exactly what I plan to do. Even if they’re bad cookies, Peeta will have to applaud me for trying. I’ll be genuine and sincere when I tell him that I do love him, and that I’m sorry for yelling, and I’ll even be wearing some pretty dress that I’ve already fished out of my closet. It’s decided.

     It’s been hours since our fight and I wonder what he’s doing now. I wonder if he’s thrown my laundry out the window or if he’s keeping it safely in his bedroom, and I wonder if he’s still upset. I wonder if he drove back to school to hide in the middle of the library or if he’s complaining to Finn about how problematic I am. I’m still worried that he’s given up, despite the fact that I know he’s not the type. He’s always cared about me, and has always waited for me, so why would he stop just because I yelled at him?

    Prim stirs together the dry ingredients and I pay attention to the wet ones, and then we mix it all together with the hand mixer and little pieces of dough start to fly everywhere. Prim laughs and eats some off the tip of her finger. I pour in the entire bag of chocolate chips except for the three that I eat, and Prim begins to stir it all together. I prepare the pans with parchment paper, and soon we’re scooping out dough and rolling it into balls, placing it on the sheets. It’s all very fun and distracting, which is nice, but as soon as the cookies are in the oven I’m worrying again.

     “Hey,” says Prim, grabbing onto my hand. “He loves you, and you love him. Don’t let a stupid misunderstanding tear you apart, okay?”

     I nod and go off to change into my dress. It’s yellow with a white lace overlay, belted at the waist by plain white sash. I brush out my hair and put a headband in to hold it back. When I look in the mirror, I still look like me…just purified. Innocent. Sweet. It’s almost unsettling, but it is the look that I’m going for, so I head back to the kitchen to check on the cookies.

      The phone rings, and I ask Prim if she’ll kindly see who it is.

     “Hello?” she asks, and then she nods. “Oh, it’s Annie.”

     “Tell her I’m baking,” I say. Prim repeats it, and I think I hear the shock in Annie’s voice as it filters through the earpiece of the old red telephone.

       “She says it’s really important, Katniss,” says Prim. I nod and take the receiver, instructing Prim to keep an eye on the cookies as I lean against the counter.

     “Annie,” I say in greeting. “What is it?”

     She takes a deep breath like she’s struggling to stay calm, but now that Prim isn’t on the line, I think she might lose it. Worry jolts through me—something is wrong, I know it. I feel it.

     “Katniss,” she says. “There’s been an accident.”

    “What?” I ask faintly. “What kind of accident?”

     “Car crash,” Annie replies, her voice trembling. “Finn and Peeta. I tried to call your cell but you didn’t pick up…I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

     “Annie,” I say, alarmed, but trying to stay calm for her sake. “Where are you? Are they all right?”

     “We just got to the emergency room.” She tells me which hospital and how to get there, and I listen carefully so I don’t go to the wrong place. I hang up and tell Prim to be careful using the oven when I’m not here, throw on a pair of shoes, and grab my car keys on my way out.

    *****

I arrive finding Annie and Mr. Mellark huddled together, her in tears and him holding them back. I immediately think the worst and rush over, already crying.

     “What happened?” I gasp. Mr. Mellark has to do the explaining because Annie’s sobbing too hard.

     “They got rammed in an intersection by a drunk driver,” he says. “They’ve both got head injuries, but…well, Finn is responsive, at least. Peeta’s been unconscious since the accident. They’re going to scan him and hope they don’t find anything too bad.

     A head injury. There has to be more that Peeta’s father isn’t telling me about because truly, nothing is worse than a head injury. Head injuries can be fatal—there can be brain damage, hemorrhaging, ruptures and bleeding and a lot of other terrifying things. My father died of an  aneurysm, bleeding in his brain…if Peeta goes the same way, I don’t know how I can take it. I’ve known for a long time that Prim doesn’t really need me anymore, and that if she needs someone, my mother is capable. She’s been capable for years, but I haven’t given her the credit.

      We sit around and wait, until they tell us Finn is getting worse. Annie disappears to be at his bedside and Mr. Mellark and I stay, waiting for Peeta’s CT scan to end. When it has, we learn that he woke up just before it, disoriented. He doesn’t know what happened. He doesn’t remember.

     I panic, because what if that means he doesn’t remember me?

     They’re allowing us each to see him, provided we only go in one at a time. It only makes sense that Mr. Mellark goes first, but he insists otherwise. He tells me that it’s better if I go, and that Peeta doesn’t need his daddy anymore. He needs me. I don’t know if I believe this, but I’m not about to try and contradict the man. So I go.

     I brace myself and head inside, finding Peeta sitting up in bed and fiddling with the bracelet they’ve put around his wrist. The scratchy plastic identification kind. He’s slightly scratched up and bruised and there’s a bandage on his head, dotted with blood. But he’s alive.

     “Peeta?” I say, and it comes out sounding weak and strangled. The nurse that’s tending to him looks up first, and Peeta takes a second to respond. When he does, he turns his head slowly and painstakingly.

     “Katniss,” he croaks. “What…”

     No. It’s just what I feared. He doesn’t remember. He doesn’t remember this morning and he doesn’t remember ever waking up beside me or kissing me goodnight. He doesn’t remember that I love him.

     So I burst into tears.

     “Katniss,” he says heavily, guiltily. “Come here, come sit by me.”

     The nurse pulls up a chair and I stumble towards it, falling into it with such force that it almost hurts. She backs away and lingers by the door, keeping a close eye on her charge. Peeta turns, despite how much his body must ache, and touches the side of my face.

     “Please tell me you remember,” I choke out, and he nods.

     “I remember. I don’t remember the crash, but I remember what happened before,” he says, gently and reassuringly despite the fact that he’s in worse condition than I am. “I remember watching you storm off into the rain and I had to get away so Finn and I went for a drive…they’ve filled me in on the rest.”

     “I love you,” I say, tears still spilling. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I didn’t want to tell you. Saying it would make it real and if it was real, it could be taken away. It scares me, Peeta, it scares me that I’m starting to love you with all that I have, because if I lose you…”

     “You won’t,” he whispers. “I’m okay.”

     “No, I will. Someday,” I reply, grasping his hand. “Everybody dies, Peeta, everybody dies or breaks up and there’s nothing anybody can do about it. But it’s worth it, love is supposed to be worth it. I’m sorry I didn’t realize that.”

     He nods and tugs on my hand, lifting it to his lips. He breathes me in and says, “I love you,” and it’s all that I need to hear right now. That and his heart monitor, the results of his CT scan—the news is good, he’s going to be fine. My Peeta is going to be fine.

     For a moment, everything is all right, until another piece of news comes back to us. A piece of news that isn’t what we needed to hear at all.

     Finn decided to take a nap, and now he won’t wake up.


	13. Chapter 13

As the information sinks in, I Google the word “coma” on my phone. It doesn’t look good. But if I were to look up the symptoms of a common cold, Google would make me think I had cancer, so it’s not necessarily reliable. I sit at Peeta’s bedside as he flips through channels, but his gaze is empty. It hurts my heart.

     Since Finn went comatose, I’ve been dividing my time between Peeta and Annie, since they both need me right now. For Annie, I’m a shoulder to cry on, someone to rub her back and soothe her as she cries without really saying anything. I can’t tell her it will be okay, because I don’t know if it will be, and I can’t tell her that Finn will recover from this because I’m not sure if he will. With Peeta, it’s different. From the moment he found out, his expression has been stony and he’s hardly said a word in regards to Finn’s condition. I don’t know if he’s in denial, or if he’s in a cold state of acceptance because he’s sure that his friend will die.

     “Hey,” I say, standing up and hovering by his side. I touch the back of his hand lightly. “I’m going to make a phone call, check in with Prim and my mom and stuff. I’ll be right back, okay?”

     Peeta turns to me and nods. I lean in to kiss his forehead, and he closes his eyes while I do. Then I slip away into the hallway as I dial the number for my house. My mother picks up in the middle of the second ring and says the obligatory, “Hello?”

     “Mom,” I address her directly, something I haven’t done in ages. “Peeta and Finn were in a car crash.”

     “Prim told me,” she says. “Are you okay?”

     “I’m fine,” I reply. “Peeta’s fine. It’s Finn we’re all worried about. They say he has head trauma or something, and he’s slipped into a coma. I don’t know what’s happening and I don’t know how to handle it and I just need you to explain something to me, anything, because Google is scaring me to death.”

     I explain to her all I know about Finn’s injuries, which isn’t much, and I read off the number I wrote on my hand, the GCS or whatever it is. It’s a four. My mother tells me that this isn’t a good number to have—it’s like a test in school, the higher you score the better off you are. She explains that there’s still a chance for him, though, because the deepness of the coma doesn’t determine how likely the patient is to recover. It’s the damage that determines that, and it’s the damage that I know the least about.

     Before I hang up, my mother wishes me luck and tells me she loves me. I don’t say anything back.

     Peeta’s talking to a nurse when I return, in hushed tones that I can barely make out. But I gather that it’s about Finn, and the way she shakes her head I know that she doesn’t know specifically what’s going on with him any more than I do. She can probably tell him the same things my mother told me—that we can’t be sure of anything.

     As soon as the nurse is gone, he turns to me. “They’ve called his parents, right?” asks Peeta, and I nod.

      “They’ll be here sometime tomorrow,” I say, perching on the edge of his bed with my hands curled around the side of the mattress. “I’m not really in the loop— _Annie_ is barely in the loop, since she isn’t technically family.”

     “She was probably going to marry him someday,” he says, picking at his bracelet. He looks at me when he talks, but he still seems distant, as if he isn’t really talking to me at all. “If that’s not family, I don’t know what is. Family isn’t about who you’re related to, it’s about who you love without obligation. Love isn’t on the papers, but you can see it in her eyes, can’t you? You can see it in the way she doesn’t leave his side, and in the way she probably says his name every twenty minutes just for the sake of hoping he’ll respond.”

     I nod solemnly. Peeta is spot on—that’s exactly what Annie has been doing for the last few hours. It’s really heart-wrenching to watch and feels like I’m being split in two. I watched my mother grieve when Dad died so suddenly, but I didn’t realize that I’d ever have to watch something like that again. The accident today was just as unexpected, and while Finn is still alive, he might not be that way for long. Even giving her time to prepare won’t make it any easier. I’ve always wondered if knowing ahead of time would make grieving easier—it doesn’t. If anything, it’s worse.

 *****

Peeta is discharged the next morning. His father brings him clothes and things, but he doesn’t actually leave. Instead he treks down the bright and clinical hallways to Finn’s private room, where machines whir and vitals are constantly monitored and Annie is curled up in a chair with a book in her hand, sleeping soundly. I take the book—it’s Finn’s, something having to do with psychology, which explains why she fell asleep before getting through the first chapter. Peeta commandeers the other chair that’s in the room and sits rigidly at his friend’s side.

     “Hey buddy,” he says in a low voice, so as not to wake Annie. “You’re looking good this morning. All this machinery really brings out the color in your cheeks.”

    I stand at the foot of the bed and set the book near Finn’s leg. I don’t say anything—honestly, I’m not even sure why I’m still here.

     “Should I…um…do you want me to go?” I ask Peeta. He shakes his head. Of course he wants me here. If I’m not here, what’s going to stop him from losing it? If I’m not here he’ll cry and what Peeta wants more than anything right now is to keep from crying as long as he can. I think that to him, crying would be equivalent to signing Finn’s death sentence. He can’t cry until there’s no more hope.

     “It’ll be nice to see your folks,” says Peeta to Finn. “It’s been a while.”

     Finn just lies there quietly, as the comatose tend to do. The way Peeta speaks to him, it’s almost like he’s awake. He says regular things, talking about classes and me and remembering stories from their freshman year…but his tone is off, his posture is too erect, his smiles too forced. If he acts any differently, though, it will be too much like a goodbye. And it’s just like crying—he can’t say goodbye yet, either, until he’s sure there won’t be another hello. I hate seeing my friends so torn up like this—Peeta’s distance and Annie’s cracking resolve. Perhaps the worst is Finn, who has no reaction. Finn with his eyes closed and his skin losing color, bandages on his head and a bunch of tubes and wires connecting him to machines that I don’t know the purposes of. 

     When Annie wakes up, we stay with her a while before I decide to take Peeta for a short walk. We get crappy hospital coffee and head outside into the dreary morning. The hospital has a lot of shrubbery and trees and pathways winding among them. There’s a deserted playground out back, and we sit side-by-side on the bottom of the double slide. I take a sip and he takes a sip, back and forth until our cups are drained. I watch him carefully as he puts the cup on the slide behind him and lays his hands out on his thighs. I reach for his hand, to give it a reassuring squeeze.

     “Katniss,” he whispers.

     “Yeah?”

     “He’s not going to wake up,” says Peeta, taking in a shaky breath. “I can tell, I can just tell.”

     “Peeta,” I say, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and holding onto him tightly, as if he’ll try and get away. “You can’t know that. There’s still a chance…”

     “No.” He shakes his head and presses his lips together to keep them from trembling. But his body starts to shake instead, ever-so-slightly, and I hug him closer. He buries his face in my hair and starts to let out small, breathy sobs. “No, I can feel it. There’s nothing left in him, Katniss.”

      “Shh,” I try and soothe him. He starts to cry harder, sniffling and gasping.

     “It’s…it’s almost my fault. It’s almost my fault,” he babbles through his sobs. “I’m the one who needed to get the hell out, to go for a drive. I’m the one who told him to turn there.” 

     “Peeta, sweetie, it was a drunk driver. It was her fault,” I say, rubbing his back and stroking his hair. “She’s not badly injured, but she’ll be held accountable.”

     “Vehicular manslaughter,” he says. “That’s what they’ll charge her with, because Finn will be dead.”

     He pulls back and wipes at his nose. His tears are flowing freely over the scabs that are forming over the cuts on his face from the broken glass. His eyes are puffy and wet and his face is red. But even though he’s covered in his own snot and tears, in the worst emotional state I’ve ever seen him in, he looks very much alive. For that, at least, I am grateful. The other outcomes of yesterday are devastating to all of us, but at least Peeta isn’t also hooked up to a million machines. At least he can still walk and talk and cry, at least he can still whimper miserably as I kiss away his tears.

     It’s hard to imagine a world without Finnick Odair, but I can do it. Imagining a world without Peeta is something else entirely.   

 *****

We hang around the hospital and take care of Annie to the best of our ability—the staff is responsible for patients, not for the emotionally unstable loved ones that come with. When Finn’s parents arrive, it’s Peeta who greets them, shaking Mr. Odair’s hand firmly and wrapping Mrs. Odair in a friendly hug. I hang back and he introduces me, but it’s all forced. If the circumstances were different, I’d shake their hands and be friendly, but I can hardly look either of them in the eye. I can see Finn in them—he has his father’s strong profile and his mother’s eyes, his father’s posture and his mother’s reddish hair. These are the people who taught him to talk and to read and to write, who nourished his passion for swimming and for psychology. They played a huge part in making Finn the man he is, and they’re about to see him at his worst.

     Peeta and I show them the way to Finn’s room, but we stop at the door. I listen as Finn’s mother walks in and her sobbing begins, shortly joined by Annie’s. I’m sure they’re holding onto each other as they cry, but I can’t see from where I stand. I can only see the very end of the bed, where Finn’s psych book still sits by his feet and his father wraps his hands around the footboard, his knuckles turning white and his jaw clenching. Peeta steps forward to pull the door closed almost all the way, and I take his hand as we walk down the hallway. As the sobs fade out, he holds on tighter, and I think that he’s going to lose it again. I prepare myself for Peeta’s tears, even though preparing won’t make it hurt me any less.

     But the tears don’t come.

     Instead he takes a deep breath, squeezes my hand, and suggests we drive back to his house because he really needs a shower. I agree with some reluctance and we head out of the hospital. I take the driver’s seat of the VW and he slides in beside me, looking surprisingly relaxed. I would think he’d be jumpy in a car, since he was just in an accident _yesterday._ I ask, just to make sure, and he says that he’s fine. So we go.

     He fiddles with the radio dials, just like always, but he doesn’t sing along with anything that comes on. I understand—as grief settles in, it’s hard to find a song worth singing. When my father died, I couldn’t even listen to music without missing him.

      The bakery is open, surprisingly. When I park in the driveway, Peeta grabs my hand and leads me across the square and towards it. Walden is manning the counter, as usual, and he looks up at the sound of the jingling bell on the door. He smiles widely, relieved and joyous and just glad to see his baby brother. He rounds the counter and throws his arms around Peeta, thumping his back and muttering things about how happy he is to see him. He asks if he’s hugging too hard or if anything hurts, and when he finally pulls back he asks if we want anything from the cases.

     “Cheese buns. We’ll take the lot,” says Peeta. Walden gladly packages them for us, free of charge for his little bro, and we take them back to the house with us, eating along the way. I pick at the golden exterior of the one in my hand and look at Peeta, who isn’t looking particularly happy, but he’s not looking like he’s in utter despair either.

     “Well, that was weird,” I say of Walden’s behavior, and Peeta smiles crookedly and nods in agreement.

     “Since we got too big for Mom to beat up on us, Walden’s realized that he never expressed enough brotherly concern when we were kids,” he says. “Now, if something happens, he becomes a mother hen for a day or two before reverting back to his usual bland and emotionless persona. Cap is a bit like that too—he’s left a few messages on my phone since he heard, but he isn’t going to fly in or anything. He has a paper due.”

     “So do you,” I remind him, and he curses.

     “I’ll have to ask for an extension,” says Peeta as we tread up the front steps. The door is open and I catch a glimpse of his father working in the kitchen, peeling potatoes. Peeta calls to him in greeting and heads upstairs. I say hello as well and wave before following him up, down the hall, and to his attic bedroom. “So,” he says as he shrugs out of his t-shirt. “I’m going to take that shower. Join me?”

     “What? Oh, okay. Sure.”

     “So eager,” he says lightly, grabbing a change of clothes for the both of us—I left an outfit here a couple weekends ago. He lays them on the bed to await our return.

     We head to the bathroom and strip down, something I do slowly and shyly and Peeta does with casual grace. He turns on the spray and steps under it, wincing as the water comes in contact with his scrapes and bruises. I step in after him and we just stand there for a moment before he leans against the wall and closes his eyes. The water ripples over him but he just stands there, not reaching for soap or shampoo or me. I realize that this shower was never really about getting clean, it was about getting away from the hospital, about feeling the warm water and cool tile.

     It’s about completely letting down his guard and surrendering to the knowledge that he may be losing his best friend. I reach for him, framing his face with my hands and brushing back his dampening hair. I can’t see the tears because they mingle with the shower water that’s trailing down his cheeks, but I know that he’s begun to cry. He opens his eyes and looks at me, and there’s so much pain there that I start to cry myself. I press kisses to his forehead and cheeks and shoulders, peppering him with my attempt at comfort, and he just lifts his arms to hold me against him.

     We stand there beneath the spray until our fingertips get wrinkled, and then we get out and towel each other off. I’m not sure who initiates it, but we kiss just for the sake of a kiss—chaste and sweet. And then we kiss because it feels better than crying, sliding our fingers through each other’s hair and grasping at the towels that we’ve wrapped around ourselves without actually pulling them away.

    Upstairs, we think we’ll get dressed again, but instead we kiss again. This time we kiss like we need it, like it’s just as vital to us as water or air. We kiss and we touch and we shed every barrier between us because we want to feel better and because we want to forget, just for a little while.

 *****

Over the next couple of days, nothing improves. Peeta and I go to class and Annie goes to one or two, but she can’t really handle them. She almost never comes back to the dorm, and when she does, she can’t stay without crying. I think it’s because her last night with Finn was spent here, and because she feels the need to be at his side as much as possible. His parents have booked a hotel room in the city and spend their days taking calls from their workplaces, walking along the river, and of course, sitting with Finn.

     On Wednesday, it is established that Finn has suffered from some brain damage, and that the doctors don’t think he’s very likely to wake up. Ever. Even if he were to miraculously awake, it’d be gradual, and he’d never really be the same. He might have trouble speaking, remembering things, or with motor functions.

     It sounds bad, but that outcome feels just as bad as Finn dying. Because really, who is Finn without his passion for swimming, for psychology, for sarcasm? Who is he without the capacity to know what he knows, to think like he does? He might not lose everything, but it’d be so close, so close that it’s like him dying, just in a different way. And that’s not pleasant to think about.

     The question arises, as it does, _do we keep him on life support?_ Really this question is the same as asking _are you ready to let go?_

     On Thursday Peeta doesn’t want to go to classes, so I have people I know tape my lectures and I ditch with him. He hasn’t gotten behind the wheel of a car yet, even though he wasn’t driving when the crash happened, even though it was the other driver’s fault. He just doesn’t want to, and I understand. I’m happy to drive him around.

     We leave campus and we leave Panem, driving home in my little VW. It seems like we’re always driving home. I thought maybe the university could become my home, but it doesn’t work that way. Not for me and not for Peeta—our families, our memories, they all exist within the borders of Collins Village. Home is where your heart is, and our hearts are in the same place.

     When we arrive at my house, I take Peeta into the broad expanse of field that runs all the way from my house to the beginning of the woods. In the middle, he picks a spot and sits, and I stretch out perpendicular with my head in his lap. He plays with my hair and for a while, we maintain the illusion of contentment. We pretend there’s nothing bothering us. Of course, this is so far from the truth that it’s almost laughable, and we can’t pretend for very long. I look up at Peeta as his soft smile slowly fades, and his hand stops winding through my hair. I sit up and hug him, and he responds by pulling me closer to him and holding on tighter.

     “So,” I say, pulling back. “Do you want to talk about it?”

     Normally, I don’t think I would want to discuss such emotionally draining things, but it’s Peeta. He needs my love and support more than anything right now, and I’ll be damned if I’m not going to give it to him.

     “I miss him. He isn’t even gone, and I miss him,” Peeta says, but he doesn’t gaze off into space like I would’ve expected him to. He looks me in the eye. It occurs to me that he’s comfortable admitting things like this to me, and that he’s not afraid to let me see him in distress. Not anymore. “Until I saw him, I had hoped he still had a chance. And even then, I thought that maybe, maybe my gut feeling was wrong. But it wasn’t.”

     I nod in agreement and in encouragement. He continues.

     “It isn’t his time to die, Katniss, it’s so far from his time. He’s not even twenty,” Peeta says, his voice weighed down with grief. “But at the same time…machines are the only thing keeping him alive. He can’t swim, or study, or plan for his future. He can’t open his eyes to look at the sunset, or at the girl he loves, and he can’t hear her voice or feel her hand in his. This,” he lays in the grass and looks up at the sky, breathing in, “this is living.” He sits up again and grasps my hand. “This is the only kind of life that’s worth living, for Finn. I know him, I know he’d feel the same.”

     “So you think he’d rather they pull the plug?” I ask, just to be sure.

     “Yeah. Yeah, that’s what I think he’d want.” Peeta sighs heavily, but he seems relieved to have gotten it off his chest.

     In a few days, when Finn’s parents consult him, Peeta doesn’t elaborate. He just nods—yes, he thinks they should take Finn off life support. Yes, he thinks it’s time to let go. But they aren’t ready, and it’s their decision. Annie doesn’t know what side she’s on—she’s too shattered to think about it. I think I agree with Peeta, but I don’t know Finn enough, I don’t really have a say in whether he lives or dies.

      Later, in Peeta’s attic bedroom, we lie huddled together in our clothes because we don’t have the energy to put on sleepwear. I ask him, insensitively, if he really thinks he’s ready to let Finn go. He doesn’t have to, not yet, but I’m just wondering.

     “No,” he says after a moment. He lifts one hand to wipe his eyes and uses the other to pull me closer. “No, I’m not. But I’d rather let him go than force him to stay like this.”

     I nod and snuggle against him. “I love you,” I say, and he nods. He closes his eyes and slowly drifts off. I listen to his heartbeat, unbelievably and cruelly thankful that it wasn’t Peeta who ended up in a coma.      


	14. Chapter 14

Heartbeats.     

     They’re short, and they’re pretty fast even when they’re at a normal rate. Pulse-points _jump, jump, jump_. When you get excited, it races, just as mine and Peeta’s race when he fiddles with the buttons on my blouse, when he backs me up until the backs of my legs hit his bed. And later, our heartbeats slow down again, indicating relaxation and imminent slumber. And even then, when I wake up in the middle of the night, I hear that Peeta’s escalates again in the nightmare he wakes from just moments later, gasping out my name.

     In his own slumber, Finn’s heartbeat stays the same. Constantly, a ringing tone going off every half-second.  Every time we visit, it seems less like pulsing hope and more like background noise, just another thing that makes sounds in this room full of sounds. The IV drip, the whirring, and the tone of Finn’s unwavering heart monitor.

     To Annie and to Mr. and Mrs. Odair, it means that he’s still alive. To me, it’s a reminder that he’s anything but.

 *****

Annie hasn’t dropped out of school yet, but I predict that she will soon enough. She’s trying to get back into the swing of it, spending long nights with the work she’s missed spread out in front of her, but she doesn’t get much done. She constantly checks her phone, gets up and walks around, and once she even packed up her things and called a cab to take her to the hospital. She spends so much of her time there, she could probably use the peace and quiet of it to her advantage and at least get somewhat caught up. But she doesn’t.

      But I appreciate that she’s trying. A few of her professors are aware of what happened and are cutting her some slack, also appreciating that she’s putting an effort into making a comeback. However…we all worry that this dim light of motivation will flicker out sooner rather than later. Finn’s parents are loving, hopeful people that want to hang onto their son for a little while longer. But what happens when they’re ready to say goodbye, and Annie isn’t, because Annie never will be?

     I am terrified that I will lose Annie to her grief. I don’t want her to withdraw into herself as my mother did, and I don’t want her to lose her mind as I’ve heard some people do. I worry so much every time I see her or talk to her, and she has no idea. She is clinging to hope when the rest of us have almost entirely lost it.

     Over the course of the month, I get to know Finn’s parents better. We converse when I visit the hospital with Peeta, and we go out to dinner with them a few times as well. Mr. Odair is a high school ecology teacher and Mrs. Odair works in the physical education department at the same school. I learn things about Finn and his childhood that I didn’t know before, though I might’ve heard the stories eventually from Finn himself, if all of this hadn’t happened.

     Annie continues to struggle with school, and honestly, there’s a distinct possibility that she’s failing at least one of her classes, if not all of them. As the days since the accident pile up, she changes little things about her lifestyle that escape my notice at first, but eventually I realize. First, she sleeps in where she used to be an early riser. She goes days and days rewriting the same lyrics on her arms, sometimes over and over, instead of writing new ones every few hours. I see _all I do is hope_ scribbled over everything for a week, from the back of her hand to her notebook to the glossy photo album pages that she’s been filling up with memories of her and Finn.

     I thought this meant maybe she was starting to accept his death, but really, she just takes it to the hospital with her and spreads it across his lap, babbling on about the good times that they’ve had and somehow not bursting into tears. I think maybe she pretends that he’s just asleep, or maybe that he’s completely aware of everything. But as much as she pretends that everything is all right, I still hear her cry herself to sleep when she’s in the dorm, and I still sometimes pass by Finn’s room and hear her pleading with him to wake up, pleading with God to let her keep him.

     Peeta is slowly coming to terms with Finn’s condition. There are days when he just can’t do it—he can’t stop by to visit Finn’s bedside, or he can’t go to work or to class because he just isn’t feeling up to it. A lot of the time, I spend these days with him, comforting him if and when he breaks down, kissing it all away and helping him feel something else. I think he is coping well, considering that Finn is his best friend. Even in his grief, Peeta is the same man I fell for. I do not have to worry about him as I do Annie.

     As for myself, I’m fine. Absolutely. I have to be, for Annie and for Peeta. They need me to be strong when they can’t be strong for themselves. I am sad to lose Finn—how could I not be, when Finn was such a bright spot on the soul of the world? But I met him only months ago, whereas they have known him and loved him for so much longer. They are his family. They don’t need me to grieve with them, they just need me to be there.

     So I am. And when the time comes, I’ll be the hand to hold and the shoulder to cry on. I will take care of them, because that is what I do. I take care of the people who get left behind. I took care of my mother, and I took care of Prim, and I’ll be damned if I’m not there for Peeta and Annie when Finn’s death leaves them floundering.

 *****

     The campus lights up come December. The trees are strung with birdseed ornaments and red ribbon, and a few of them even have lights peeking through the branches. I start to see menorahs and gingerbread men and there’s a whole display about winter and holidays at the front of the library. Our student body is not super diverse in regards to religion, but everyone has some sort of representation hung up somewhere. I get Annie to make paper snowflakes with me and hang them up in our room and the hallway. I put a wreath on the door and she plays Christmas music and it’s a grand old time, if we don’t think about Finn.

     As I stride along the paths of the courtyard, I have to draw my coat closer to my body. The chill seeps into me, consumes me, but I know of people who come from down south or even the other parts of North Carolina and find it to be absolutely _freezing_. I guess I’m used to it, having grown up closer to the mountains. We’ve always had lower temperatures in Collins Village, and a lot more snowfall.

      My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I keep walking. The library is my destination and I will get to the library in a timely manner. I’ll worry about the text message later.

     At the library, I hurry to the secret spot among the shelves and shuck off my outerwear. I dig out my phone and check it—it was Peeta. “ _Going to the hospital? Wanna come with?”_

     I text back a no. I have studying to do.

     I tuck it away again and open up my books. I have a few that Mags has been holding onto for me, and I stop by to grab those. She asks after Finn, and I stand there for a while just talking to her about the situation, which hasn’t changed much at all.

      Annie is still clinging, Peeta is still adjusting, and I’m still supporting. Finn, of course, is still not dying and he’s still not living. All is as it was last week when she asked.

     I make my way back to my spot and crack open my books, studying for finals that are just days away. It’s stressful, yes, but I’ve gone through enough stress in the past month that this feels like a walk in the courtyard, minus the chill. Finn and Peeta’s accident and the outcome of has been so draining that I will never again look at a textbook as the bane of my existence. Finn, wherever he may be, would probably give anything for the opportunity to pull one more all-nighter or take one more exam or write one more essay that babbles on and on about some boring topic that he doesn’t even care about. School is progress towards the future that I am lucky enough to have. I have to appreciate it, even when I don’t exactly _appreciate_ it.  

     My phone buzzes insistently in my pocket, and it keeps doing it. It’s a call. I only really answer calls from Prim, Peeta, or Annie, and I pull out the phone to see if it is, in fact, one of these select few. It is.

      “Hello,” I say as I pick up. “Did you get to the hospital okay?”

     “Yeah,” he says, sounding rather out of breath. “But Katniss, Finn’s parents were just leaving as I got here. They were here. To sign. The papers.”

     Belatedly, I realize that he’s gasping between words, the shaky kind of gasp that comes only when you’re struggling to keep your composure. The kind of gasps that become sobs. I drop the pencil that I’ve been tapping against the table and my grip on the phone tightens.

     “Peeta,” I say, “what papers?”

     “They’re going to take him off,” he replies, sniffling. I hear him moving around the room, hear Finn’s tonal heart monitor in the background. “After Christmas. He’ll really be gone.”

     I think my heart breaks for him. For Finn, for Finn’s parents, for Annie. My heart breaks for all of them, losing someone so dear to them, directly following what is allegedly the most wonderful time of the year. The season of giving will come and go, and it will do more than take the contents of our wallets and bank accounts—it will also take the very life of Finnick Odair.

 *****

I spend Christmas with Peeta’s family and my own. We cram into the Mellarks’ lovely Victorian and gather around the Christmas tree. Finn’s parents stop by and meet Mr. Mellark officially, though they don’t stay for long, but Annie comes later with a tearstained smile. It was one of the nurses who told her what would be happening to Finn after the holiday was over, though Mr. and Mrs. Odair had been planning to tell her themselves. She didn’t take it well, obviously, but for Christmas, at least, she will pull through. Her arms are scribbled with nonsensical things and her eyes are bloodshot, but she sits very quietly and tries so hard to share the holiday cheer. I am proud of her.

     Peeta’s brother Cap surprises us by breezing in that evening just before dinner. He wears a suit and wire-rimmed glasses and is stiffly polite, but Peeta gives him a great big bear hug and a “Welcome Home”, which seems to soften him. He and Walden exchange looks and sit across from each other at the table; as we eat I swear they kick each other a few times, for the mischievous glint in their matching brown eyes—their mother’s eyes—gives them away. It’s strange to sit here and eat Christmas dinner with all of them. My mother and Prim, Peeta and his family, and Annie. She picks at her food and doesn’t say much, but I think it’s better than spending all evening in the hospital with Finn.

      After dinner there are gifts, and after that Mr. Mellark proposes Christmas carol karaoke and I get bullied into singing multiple songs about Jesus and jingling bells. Not that I mind. Peeta seems to really appreciate it.

     When my mother and Prim leave, Cap retires for the night. Walden is gone soon after and Mr. Mellark starts to clean the kitchen, leaving Annie, Peeta, and I in the living room in the light of the tree. It is this moment that Annie begins to cry, and Peeta and I sit on either side of her with no way to really console her. It won’t be okay, because within a few days, Finn will have died completely. I get to read her arm, and it’s actually not nonsensical at all—it’s just a few different lines scribbled over and over in various sizes and fonts.

_Keep breathing, my angel._

_Give me a miracle._

*****    

The day comes too quickly, and it passes too quickly as well. I don’t think Finn’s last day could ever be long enough for any of us. It’s December the 29th, so close to the end of the year that I think it’s almost funny. As the year goes out like a light, so does Finn.

     We all have some time alone to say our final goodbyes, but Peeta doesn’t want to be alone. He brings me in with him and I watch him hold tightly onto Finn’s hand and recounts so many of the good times they had together and how much it pains him to let go. He apologizes, because part of him blames himself, and he scolds, for he feels Finn has chosen the worst time to leave him and the worst time to die. “It’s college, for Christ’s sake, it’s supposed to be the time of our lives,” he says. “Not the end. It shouldn’t be the end.”

     My farewell is nowhere near as touching. I thank him and whatever, and I mumble that I’ll miss him. I can’t really pull off anything more heartfelt than that—I don’t have as many memories to recall or stories to tell.

     Once everyone has said goodbye, we all cluster together around his bed and witness it as the mechanized whirring that has filled the room dies down, and we listen as the heart monitor slows, slows, and finally goes flat.

     It’s official. Finnick Odair is no more.

 *****

The funeral is as funerals are. Somber, black, and depressing. The drive to their seaside town was also long and depressing, seeing as Peeta spent much of it practicing his eulogy to himself and I spent much of it reading up on the five-stages of grief for the billionth time in my lifetime.

     The funeral itself is held in the visitation area of their church. Annie holds it together for the viewing part of it, sitting near the casket as Finn’s parents accept various condolences. High school friends and classmates mill about, and older people who knew him mutter among themselves about how young he was and how sad it is and how horrible his poor girlfriend must feel. I want to tell them she’s in shambles. She’s quitting school, as I predicted, and she’s moving back here to live with her parents. Honestly, I think it’s for the best.

     When everyone settles into their seats, the service starts. The pastor talks about everlasting life and eternal bliss and how we are all going to die someday and we’ll rejoin our God in heaven and stuff. I don’t really pay attention. Peeta is up next, the only person Finn’s parents selected to eulogize other than the guy who is now wandering back to his seat.

     Peeta gets up and I squeeze his hand before he begins to trudge up to the front of the room. He stands with the casket at his back, smoothing out his papers on the podium. He wrote something and kind of memorized it, but I have a feeling that now that he’s up there, it will really only be a set of guidelines. He takes a deep breath and we all look on, waiting for him to speak.

     “Obviously, not all of you know me. I’m not from here—Finn and I met at school last year. UNC Panem, we were freshman with high expectations and low maturity levels,” he laughs lightly and cracks a smile. “We became best friends. The best of friends. I cannot stress it enough that Finnick Odair was like another one of my brothers, just born to different parents on the other side of the state. He was hilarious, and friendly, and fun to be around. Finn loved to swim, to him, the water was life. Life flowing around him, through him, up and under him as he sliced through it to get to a finish line. He was fascinated by psychology and was convinced he could use it for good—like a superhero, figuring out how the bad guys tick.

     “He wasn’t going to be a superhero, no, he already was one. If you asked Finn for help with anything, he’d help you to the best of his ability. And he knew it. He knew how great he was. He planned water gun fights and broke into the pool at midnight and called me up in the middle of spring break just to ask about my latest painting.” Peeta was crying now, rubbing his eyes in front of a bunch of people he’d never met before, talking about a dead boy that they’d known longer than he had. “He had such a great life, a wonderful girlfriend, a promising future. I hate to see him go, I…I hate to see him go. Finn, I love you, I do, and we’re all going to miss you so much—it’s going to be hard never seeing you again, never hearing your laugh, never running after you with a water gun screaming like a maniac…” He shakes his head and looks towards Annie, locking eyes with her. “But we have to be strong for you, every single one of us.”

     He wipes his eyes and returns to his seat. I squeeze his arm.

     “It was awful,” he says. I shake my head.

     “No, no it wasn’t,” I reply, holding on tightly. “It was beautiful. It was…it was just like Finn would’ve wanted it to be, except for the crying.” I kissed his cheek, tasting the salt of his tears. “Finn wouldn’t want you to cry.”

 *****

When we return to school in January, it feels weird. Annie’s side of the room is empty, and when I visit Peeta’s room, I find that most of Finn’s things have been taken out. His textbooks are still stacked on the desk, and his surfboard still leans against the wall. Apparently, his parents said that Peeta could keep it for some reason. He didn’t mind—it was probably the only thing of Finn’s that he got to have.

     Sometimes I expect to open my door and find Annie dancing in her pajamas, or I think that maybe I’ll run into Finn in the courtyard. But no, they’re both gone. Peeta and I eat dinner together or with Johanna, who is just as odd and insensitive as ever. It’s kind of refreshing having someone like that to counteract all the saps that ask whether I’m okay. Of course I’m okay.

     I mean, until I realize that something is off. I’m sitting in my dorm, listening to a band that Annie introduced me to, when it occurs to me.

      I don’t remember the last time I had a period.

      I scramble to check the calendar that I’ve marked up with stickers, and I realize that I actually haven’t had one since November. _November._ It’s fucking January.

     Despite being in my pajamas, I throw open my door and slam it behind me. I run down the hall, dodging other people who are also in their pajamas. (It’s actually a regular occurrence that people wear pajamas around on Saturday afternoons, but I usually don’t. Not in public.) They look at me like I’m crazy, but it’s because I’m running, not because of my fashion choices.

     Peeta’s door is unlocked, for some reason, so I just barge in. Luckily he isn’t in any compromising position, like standing naked in the middle of the room or something, but he still motions for me to shut the door behind me.

     He’s lying there on his bed, reading and art book. I almost don’t want to tell him what I’m freaking out about, because I don’t want disrupt the peace that he has found in his room this afternoon, with his art book and his half-eaten bag of hot Cheetos. But I couldn’t keep something like this from him, even if I’m wrong. It involves him.

     “Peeta,” I say breathlessly. I don’t bother beating around the bush. “I think…I think that I might be pregnant.”

     “Katniss,” he says. “We use protection. You’re on the pill.”

     “ _STILL_!” I persist. “It can still happen. Those things are not one-hundred percent effective all the time.”

     “Okay, okay,” he says, weirdly calm. “If you don’t mind me asking, do you want to be pregnant?”

     “No! I’m in college. I can’t raise a child.”

     “We,” he corrects, closing his book and getting up out of bed. “Stay here, I’ll get you a test or whatever. Just…eat some Cheetos and relax.”

     Of course, Peeta would be calm about this. He probably doesn’t even care whether or not there’s a baby—he’ll stay with me either way. Fucking Peeta, so genuinely kind, so endlessly in love with me. I could not love him or hate him any more than I do right now.

     He leaves me there to stress and eat Cheetos, both of which I do. I envision myself juggling a screaming infant and a paper due the next morning, and then I realize that there wouldn’t be time. If I am pregnant, then I’ll have to drop out of school. I don’t even know what I was planning to do yet, but here I am, possibly losing the opportunity. I can’t pay for a child either. I’m a college student with a loan, and Peeta lives off of the income from the bakery and his dad’s savings. I don’t doubt that our parents would be supportive—my mother loves babies, and Mr. Mellark is so easygoing he probably wouldn’t care if we eloped to Peru, as long as there were pictures.

     When Peeta returns, he hands me a plastic bag and trades it for his Cheetos. I ate most of them in his absence.

     I duck into the bathroom and pull out the boxes. He got several, all different types, so I open them all.

     When I’m done, they’re all resting on the back of the toilet and I’m washing my hands, glancing at the line of pregnancy tests that are still processing my pee. I open the door and go out to Peeta, standing there for a moment before going back to check the times on the boxes. A few minutes, they say. What if I want to know now?

     Peeta doesn’t say a word as I pace his room, waiting for the mental timer I’ve set to go off. He just watches, and I wonder if he’s really as cool with this as he’s acting. I wonder if, beneath the surface, he’s freaking out just as much as I am.

     I finally hurry into the bathroom to look. They should be done.

     Negative. Negative. Negative. I am not pregnant. I sink down onto the lid of the toilet and sweep all three tests into the trash bin. Peeta appears in the doorway, his gaze questioning. I shake my head.

      I should be relieved. But I don’t feel relieved.

     I just feel an overwhelming sadness bubbling in my chest. I shouldn’t be sad—its not like I was hoping to be pregnant. Was I? Of course not. Maybe. I’m so confused and I’m feeling tears in my eyes but I don’t understand what the problem is. Peeta comes forward, kneeling in front of me, asking why I look like I’m about to cry.

     Because I am. I am about to cry.

     I picture a baby with Peeta’s bright blue eyes and a shock of dark hair. I imagine holding her, teaching her, watching her grow up. I never really wanted kids before—the world sucks, why bring one more life into it? But now…if I had been pregnant…it would’ve been a burst of life to counteract the lingering presence of Finn’s demise. A brand new bright spot on the soul of the world, right next to where his is fading away. 

     But it isn’t so.

     His bright spot continues to fade. It’s here, in this bathroom, that I start to really feel the impact of Finn’s death. I put it off and put it off for them, but now that it’s over…do I still have to be strong? Peeta said so in his eulogy, so why do I have my head in my hands? Because being strong isn’t really the ability to abstain from tears—it’s the ability to carry on anyway, and I’m finally wrapping my mind around that idea.

     Finnick Odair is no more. I cry because I lost him, because he was my friend, and I cry because I didn’t think to cry until now. I remember the first time I saw him, in the photograph that Annie showed me on my first day here, and I remember the first time that I saw him in real life—just before the party at Capitol Suites. He was so alive then, it’s odd to put that image beside the one of him pale and lifeless in a hospital bed. It makes me cry harder, knowing that for an entire month, he was as good as gone and I still didn’t allow myself to grieve him.

     As Peeta begins to figure out what’s wrong, he gathers me into his arms and strokes my hair, speaking soothingly even though I can’t understand him. My head begins to hurt and my throat aches from sobbing, but I just cling to Peeta and carry on, because I’m making up for so much lost time.

    _I’m sorry, Finn,_ I think. _I’m sorry it took me so long._

 *****

The following week, we hold a memorial for Finn. There were a lot of people here on campus who knew him and couldn’t go to his funeral, so this is the next best thing.

     It starts in the courtyard, where they’ve taken most of the holiday decorations off of the trees but some still linger on the highest branches. The breeze whips through my hair every now and then, but otherwise, the weather is cooperative. The sun will be setting soon, so I begin to pass out candles. Peeta begins to light them, and people who already have their wicks lit decide to help light other people’s candles. There aren’t that many people, really, but there’s enough. I see the entire swim team, each with a blue candle in one hand. Finn’s goatee friend is there, and Mags from the library, and Johanna even though she doesn’t have a candle.

     I stand there and wait for everyone’s candle to be lit before we walk. We walk along the pathways of the courtyard and continue on, through the buildings where we have classes. There’s a little pond in the middle of this part of campus, and that’s where we head. A congregation of blue candles and winter coats, but I make a point not to be sad. Instead, I hear lively conversation, people sharing memories of how crazy Finn was, how thoughtful. I smile at Peeta, because this is what we wanted. This is the kind of memorial that Finn would’ve wanted.

     When we arrive at the pond, I very carefully set my candle into the boat that Walden built. When I came to him with my idea, he knew just how to build them. There are several, and as they fill up, they are pushed out into the pond. Peeta and I stand back as the rest of the people send their candles away.

     It’s just how I pictured it. Peeta squeezes my hand we watch as a battalion of flickering flames drifts along the pond’s surface, reflecting in the dark, still waters.

     “He would’ve loved this,” says Peeta.

      “That was my intention,” I reply.

     And then the singing starts. I don’t know how they know Finn’s favorite song, but they do. Peeta and I join in and all of our voices mingle and swell, remembering Finn’s bright spot, breathing color back into it, determined to never let it fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song References: 
> 
> Stay, by Mayday Parade 
> 
> One Man Drinking Games, by Mayday Parade 
> 
> Finn's favorite song: 
> 
> Home, by Daughtry


	15. Epilogue

The semester ends in the middle of June.

     After the exhausted hurriedness of final exams, the year is finally over. The temperatures seem to climb every day and they’ve already turned up the air conditioning. I can feel the coolness of it as I pack up my dorm, tucking away my framed photos and the UNC Panem pennant that Peeta gave me. As I pack, the room starts to look increasingly emptier, emptier than it already did. Since Annie left in the middle of the semester, technically, they never gave me a new roommate. Peeta got one, however, a kid named Cinna that has bonded more with me than he has with Peeta. He has the best fashion sense, and Peeta doesn’t appreciate such things nearly as much as I do.

      But of course, he could never replace Finn.

     I’m almost sad to be going home. I made so many memories here, and so much has happened between now and that first night in September. Not all of it was good, but…a lot of it was. We made good memories before Finn died, and we continued to make good memories afterwards. During Spring Break, Peeta and I went to visit Annie, and she was in good enough spirits to go to the beach with us. She seemed well, but she didn’t have the same light in her, and there were no lyrics on her arms to wash away with the ocean.

     We visited Finn as well, leaving sugar cubes and a bottle of salt water on his grave. Flowers would’ve been more customary, but what would he want flowers for?

     My sheets are already wadded up in my laundry bag, and all my clean clothes are folded in a box on the bed. My books fit in a tote bag and everything else goes in this box with my pictures. It takes a couple of trips to get it all into my car, and when I finally come back to leave the keys on the desk, just as I was told, the room is just as bare as it was when I first arrived.

     How fitting, that it ends just as it began.

    *****

My drive home is quiet. Peeta finished moving out yesterday, and Cinna was still working on it as I loaded up my last box. I asked if he needed help, but he refused, so I continued on my merry way. Now, it’s just me, my Beetle, and some rattling boxes. The campus fades away in my rearview mirror, and my hometown lies ahead.

     Collins Village welcomes me with its small town charm as I drive through the square. Peeta’s Skylark is in the driveway but he’s nowhere to be seen. Even as both of his brothers start to wrestle in the front yard, he doesn’t make an appearance. I shrug and continue on towards the other side of town, almost all the way to the opposite edge. Despite having been home most weekends, I’m thrilled to see Everdeen cottage rise up into view as I turn onto my street.

     I’m not surprised to find Peeta on his hands and knees in the front garden, tugging at weeds.

     “Are you making yourself useful, Mellark?” I ask as I get out of the car. As I pulled up, he hauled himself to his feet, and now he’s brushing his hands off on his jeans.

     “It was on your mother’s to-do list,” he says, smiling. “I thought that I might as well help out while I waited for you. She also offered me a lemon square.”

     “You’re so easily bought,” I tease, striding over. I lean over the fence to see what he has done. He plucks a dandelion from the ground near his feet and hands it to me, grinning. I put it in my hair and head inside, knowing that he’ll follow me. Peeta drops his work gloves on the porch step and leaves his shoes at the door when we walk in. I can hear my mother and sister in the kitchen, talking and laughing and probably cooking, and I watch as Buttercup slinks around the corner into the hallway.

     “Do you want me to bring in your things?” asks Peeta as he shuts the door. I shake my head and walk over to the couch, situating myself. Now that I have all responsibilities behind me, I can just sit here and watch whatever I want. It’s like every weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. Even my major—I know what I want to do now. Something with natural sciences and stuff, because that’s what I like and what I’m good at. I can see myself working as a park ranger or something, which is a first. Before this year, I was never able to picture myself in any position other than the one I had as Prim’s big sister and caretaker.

     Now she doesn’t need me anymore, and in a way, I’ve stopped needing her too.

     Peeta sinks down onto the couch beside me and asks, “What are you going to watch?”

     “I don’t know,” I say, turning to him. “What if I said I wanted to kiss you instead?”

     “I could go for that,” he says, and he wraps a dirty arm around me to thread his fingers through my hair. “I’ll never get tired of kissing you, Katniss.”

     “I’ve accomplished my goal,” I say. “I’ve ruined you for all other women. My name will be in the history books as the woman who got Peeta Mellark to fall in love with her without even trying.”

     “Shut up, Katniss.”

     “Okay,” I say, and I kiss him. And to myself, I think, _I’ll never get tired of kissing you, either._  

 

 


End file.
